|Idana, daughter of Winter|
|Idana, daughter of Winter|
|Idana, daughter of Winter|
The wind howls over the impossibly tall mountain peaks of the Fangwall. Ice and snow whipped into a flurry by the bitter gale saps strength and warmth from anyone foolish enough to expose themselves to the winter storm. Lightning, as cold as the very wind howling through the mountains, flashes, revealing a single serpentine figure rearing up above the stone of a ledge jutting out over the deep, glacier-carved valley. For a moment, the world stands still, save for the lone figure silhouetted by lightning as it takes in a deep and mighty breath. All hangs in still silence before a bellowing, defiant roar cuts through the gale of the wind and the rolling thunder to echo through the valley.
Though their garb was that of Norden, they possessed the bearing of Imperials. A rather large and rotund man far too deep in his cups proposed a coupling with Elyana, and seemed to have forgotten the nordic tongue and refused to accept her answer of no. Words became more heated, and before too long blades were in hands and blood was flowing freely.
The three of you were outnumbered, however, and all of you were rounded up and roughly thrown into a prison cart. The local thane of the village accepted a bribe of gold to look the other way, but that was all you could see before blindfolds were roughly tied around your heads. Well, that and the young man that had been thrown into the cart with you. After several days of no food, little water, and even less sleep, there's a sharp pain at the back of your heads and then the blackness of unconsciousness.
After a rather fat imperial in Norden dress manages to start a bar fight, it is rather curious how it is you, someone that didn't even participate, that is thrown into a prison cart occupied by three strange women. It's not long after seeing the local Thane take a bribe from your captors that you find a blindfold being roughly tied about your head. Any questions about Audun are met with silence at best and brutal blows you never see coming at worst, though you sometimes here the men laughing afterwards. After several days of no food, little water, and even less sleep, there's a sharp pain at the back of your heads and then the blackness of unconsciousness.
The men assaulting Freydis may not have been dressed as Imperials, but there was no mistaking them for anything else. Their blood was on your hands as more of them surrounded you. It was only the scream of the young girl you had taken a fancy to and the knife at her throat that spared them a painful death at your hands. Whatever plans may have been forming in your mind are rendered useless when a couple of well placed blows with a sturdy club drive you into the black realm of unconsciousness.
Imperials in norden dress had carried you and cared for you since leaving the small village behind. You have noted that there are about half of the number you had seen while defending your family, yourself and your home before having three arrows pierce your flesh. As you begin to leave the eaves of the Iron Pines, the troupe halts and the captain of this particular band, Cevalius Lomar, roughly forces you to drink some daught. You barely have time to cough as you fall into a deep dreamless slumber.
Their roars pealed out over the peaks like the triumphant notes of a herald's horn, Terrible and magnificent were their cries as their took to their wings and soared even above the mighty eagles of the lands to the west and north. A third roar comes from below, sending the two on their way. Like two specters of an age long forgotten, they went forth to do as their master bade them. Their scales were black as smoke in their eyes burned embers of rage and anger long suppressed. Tonight they would bring forth a message. They would announce the return of their master, and soon all would know of his horrible majesty.
Slowly, the world returns. The air is cold and damp and the trickle of water running over stone can be heard nearby. Opening your eyes, you can see the dimly lit, rough stone cell that you and five others are in. The only light comes from the small window facing a steep slope and a torch too far away to provide any warmth. Meltwater trickles into through the window, rusting the thick iron bars and pooling on the floor underneath it. Opposite of the window is a wall of iron bars with a single sturdy door just wide enough to let a single person through.
All of you are dressed in what would generously be called rags. The rough fabric holds no heat, even under the non-threadbare patches. All of the women wear heavy, black, iron manacles engraved with runes of protection and prayers to ward off evil. The sole ratty cot is occupied by a badly injured woman (Daerdryn) with bloody bandages wrapped around her left thigh and her belly.
There are no guards nearby, and it sounds as if the other cells are empty. The time of day is impossible to tell, as is where you may possibly be. The only thing that is clear about the situation you all are in some serious trouble.
Daerdryn, you are at 1d10 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6 HP at the moment.
Elyana woke with a start, the cold floor and air damp with moisture through the raggedy, near non-existent, rags she had on. Realizing where she must be she sat up and frantically looked for her sisters and saw to her joy that they were there with her. She then wondered what might have happened after she was knocked out, I wonder if he had his way with me? I think I need to find him and find out. Her next impulse was to look for her "friends", the souls that were bound to her were around and called out quietly to them, "Are you there friends? Cynthea, Dadelion, Syra, Manny, Elsbeth, Draco, Lyana, and Bob? Are you here? You can show yourselves if you are."
The dull pain from her wounds is what brought Daerdryn out of the empty darkness. No dreams to comfort her or escape to. Once upon a time the priestess back in Everwatch had told her that dreams were a way to interpret the healing a body had done during the night. Personally Daerdryn thought it was a load of bull. The niggling thought that there was no need to dream when one was already dead pestered her as the shared cell came into focus.
Out of a sense of routine, Daerdryn checked her bandages and wounds. If they went septic... Well, she'd die, or lose the leg, or both. She carefully rewound them, as best as the manacles would let her before taking stock of her new abode and the cellmates within.
Heal: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (8) + 11 = 19
One thing that immediately caught her attention was that her old bindings were gone. Someone, somewhere, must not have been told about her and metal. She didn't trust those runes though. With nothing else better to do she tried to slip free from them. Hopefully they'd be easier than the ropes.
Escape Artist: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
"I don't think they're all here," Daerdryn replied, clearly distracted by her efforts, "There's only the six of us, but maybe some of them are. Can you tell me who you recognize? I"m Daerdryn, Daerdryn Ingdora, by the way. Hail and welcome friend, it's nice to meet you."
The throbbing in her head was damn near unbearable, much more so than the cold or discomfort. As consciousness faded in, Olyenna opened her eyes, peering through the darkness as she took in their surroundings.
Her first thought was of her sisters, Elyanna's voice calling out to....her friends coming as a relief."Are you hurt Ely? It looks like Idana's still unconscious." she said quietly as she forced herself to sit up. Moving closer to her sisters she takes stock of those in the room, just as the other woman, lying on a cot and clearly wounded, spoke.
"It's alright, most of the time only she can see them." she responded quietly. "Well met Daerdryn, though the circumstances could definitely be better. By the look of your shackles, we face the same fate." she muttered bitterly.
There is a stirring in the dark as the large man, who had since been hanging limply, begins to stir. With an aching ground, dark eyes open as he looks among the darkness. "Gah....my aching head." His voice was deep and rumbled like thunder, the chains clinking as he sat up straight and looked around the prison cell. Those dishonorable bastards, how dare they take a Warborn captive like some common criminal? How dare they not give him the honorable death he deserved.
A voice speaks out in the darkness and the voice is unfamiliar to him, causing the fierce beserker to scowl for a moment. He didn't say anything yet, instead looking up at the chains that held him in the wall. Damn them, how dare they chain him like an animal?
"Don't you worry. I'm going to try and get us out of here." The man growled. beginning to pull on the chains, testing their strength.
Strength To Break: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
As consciousness finally returns to him, Kieran looks around. It takes a moment for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light, but once they do he scans the room, taking in his surroundings and the other people in the cell. 'Four women and a man,' he thinks before correcting himself. 'A big man.'
He tries his manacles a little, but there is no slipping them off. Whether they are too tight or he is out of practice is of little consequence at the moment. The result is the same.
"Ah, you three," he says in a friendly enough tone, carefree even. "I hope all went... well? Well, before... this I mean, our current predicament notwithstanding. I... we did try to help, but chaos quickly took things over." He rises, or at the very least tries to, cracking his neck and joints. The cold and the unconsciousness do not exactly help.
"How is that going for you?" The quip comes naturally despite the rather unfortunate circumstances. "I could perhaps lend a hand? Although I am not entirely sure what good it would do." His eyes turn towards the thick iron bars and the sturdy stone.
Escape Artist: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12
"I remember you helping, thanks for that, though it's apparently not done you any good." Olyenna says bitterly. "I'd say it didn't go too well."
"If you mean accused of witchery and being torn from your family, then we are very much alike. Though I tend to leave spirits be instead of addressing them by name."
The chains bested her easily. Too tight and too well made. So with that distraction gone, her choices were to either lie there on the cot or see what help she could be. Years of farm work, where there was always something that needed doing drove her to the latter.
She rose, with a little difficulty, and looked over the rest. A motley crew, definitely, but at least they seemed good people.
"A good gesture holmson," she remarked concerning Sigurd's declaration, "but meaningless if you can't trounce our guards and whatever else might stand between us an freedom. Now, please stop straining. You might hurt yourself... In fact, if all of you could come closer so I could take a look at you. Names too, would be appreciated."
"You," she pointed towards Kieran, "I'll start with you."
"Yes, not terribly well. Actually, just terribly," he returns to the woman, one of the three.
Then another adresses him and he turns his eyes towards her. Kieran raises an eyebrow and then smiles. "I think I am alright, but sure. Although I must say, you on the other hand do not seem to be. Anything I could do? Not sure what though, I am not exactly a healer."
Obliging the woman, he approaches nevertheless. "Kieran Markavien. And you?"
"Daerdryn Ingdora," she pulls him down to her eye level and brings up a finger for his eyes to follow. She follows their movement with her own. Afterwards she ran her fingers over his head, careful not to press too hard.
She was looking for any severe swelling or sluggishness. Head injuries could be some nasty business. She lost count of the number of times a healthy Norden warrior wandered into the temple only to die after complaining about a persistent headache. Bad off as she was, Daerdryn couldn't rest easy until she knew that they were fine.
"I may not have the healing art in me, but I was trained a little by those that did. My wounds have closed, so there's not much more I can do other than clean them and take care not to reopen them. You seem fine Kieran. I'm probably worrying over nothing, it's just good to be sure."
"So, who's next?"
The chains groan for a moment, muscles tense and the veins are exerted upon Sigurd's neck. Eventually though, the man gives and falls back against the stone wall to catch his breath.
"Curse this steel and this cold!" He shouts, standing at his tall height and looking back towards the woman. His eyes had began to adjust to the darkness. "Four women, one man. What kind of prison is this?" He thought for a moment before letting out a sigh. "If I could, I'd kill the man who'd come in, take his blade, and cut a path through this prison here. We could escape to...to..." He looked up and out the window as the meltwater trickled in and the cold burned against his skin. "Where in the hell are we, anyway? Does anyone know?"
The massive man steps in closer, an obvious Norden and one that seemed to come straight out of the horror stories that Imperial mothers told their children. His brown hair was clinging to his shoulders and down his back, a thick brown beard that matched the dark, blue eyes. Tattoos decorate his form, scars from numerous battles decorating his body as he clears his throat. "Sigurd Warborn of Smithhold." He says, albeit it softer and with a sound of defeat in his tone. Crouching down in front of the woman who was inspecting the small, Imperial man. His face was busted up, there was swelling upon his head, and there were nicks and cuts across his body that seemed to have resisted infection. He waited patiently for her inspection to be over, looking over at the others there.
"A tavern brawl? Huh, guess this must where they throw the unruly then. What caused your fight?" He asks of the three sisters and the Imperial, his eyes occasionally flickering up towards Daerdyn for a moment here and there. Accused of witchcraft? That was a serious claim to have made against oneself, a troubling one to be rid of. "Why did they accuse you of witchcraft, Daerdyn? What caused that?"
"Bullies that wouldn't leave my son alone. I made a display to straighten them out. Then the rumors started. It ended with the whole town in front of my house, ready to oust the evil in their midst."
Her eyes water a little as she remembers the betrayal and her boy, but she shakes it off to finish her examination.
Sigurd would nod, pulling away and settling upon the cold ground. His head leans back against the cold stone and he takes a deep breath and sighs.
"I see. I am sorry for your loss then. If I may ask, what happened to your son?"
|Idana, daughter of Winter|
The eldest of the three sisters, the one with blue skin and bluer hair has been awake this entire time. Listening not to the words of her sisters or of the other captives but to the howling winds outside. To the storm which she senses brewing.
"They name us Witch because we bleed with the moon and we have power. They fear us because they know that power can ruin them should we ever rise."
Idana shifts, eyes opening now.
"They bind us with iron and runes to keep us frail, sisters but these chains are like the walls men built to keep winter at bay. It only delays the inevitable. Our storm is coming."
Sigurd looks over at the woman who begins to awaken, an eyebrow raising at the words that escape from her lips. A look of concern appears upon his face and he takes a moment to reflect before he speaks.
"I think...it may be because you sound like a witch." He says with an honest tone with his voice. He looks her over a bit, frowning before looking towards Olyenna. "You think you can break these? They're unfortunately well-made..."
Smiling as Idana's words inspire her as always, Olyenna smirks as the big man shows fear. The same fear of all the superstitious and weak minded. Yes he at least had a decent point with the manacles.
Looking at them she studies them hoping to find a weakness.
Knowledge Engineering: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
When nothing comes to mind she makes an attempt to exert her considerable strength.
Strength: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13
"No such luck. I'd warn you, if you are one of those, ready to scream witch and grab up a torch in the presence of a strong woman, you've found yourself in the wrong place." she says with a hard look at the hulking man.
"I don't know. I told Tobin to hide, but his sister Yolana stayed with me until the imperial archers struck me down."
She stopped the examinations. At this point, from what she could see, they all seemed alert and adept. In the end she had to accept that all of this was just nerves and worry. It was easier to fuss after these people than to think about the kids.
"Well..." It was the best start she could come up with after the blue sister's winding prose, "Idana, was it? Hags are a real problem back home in the Iron Pines and anything associated with them garners just as much of a bad reputation. I can understand why all of Nettle turned on me even if I can't forgive them for it."
"It seems like I've been running my mouth for a bit. I'd like to learn a little more about you all," she held up her shackle as well, "and what these symbols mean."
Sigurd leans back against the wall, his head tilting back and resting against the cold, wet stone for a moment before his eyes move to look across the way at Olyenna. A cocky grin spreads across his lips as he tilts his head curiously for a moment now, regarding Olyenna with a look that was both equally amused and intrigued.
"If there were drinks to be had, I'd more than welcome a contest of fists and see who kisses the earth first. As it is though, I doubt we shall have that opportunity." He gave a little shrug, looking back at the woman that had been tending to his wounds before giving a nod. "She speaks wise words. Their fear is not misplaced if that is the path you wish to walk, even if it is used by cowards for easy excuses."
Ignoring the sisters for the time being, he drew his attention back towards the Norden woman, nodding solemly. "I hope your son and daughter are safe and sound. Truly, I do." His voice was far softer as he looked back up at the ceiling for a moment.
"I know nothing about mysticism and magical tricks and powers, I am a simple man. I saw a woman being accosted by men, weak and frail Imperials whose weakness was only beaten by their cowardice. I demanded they let her go, they refused. One drew a dagger and threatened my life. So I took his."
The sigh that left him was as if he was recalling a fond memory, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. "They called for more of their comrades...and I struck them down in my rage. The cowards...they grabbed the girl and threatened her life. I surrendered and they beat me senseless. Their fear was palpable though, so sweet and pure. Now I am here, dying for a bar wench's honor." He laughed bitterly at that, shaking his head. "There are worse reasons, I suppose. I held my honor and my ancestors will smile upon me when these milk-drinkers are done playing around with me. Maybe I'll get fortunate, kill another, and they'll stop wasting their time and mine."
It was only then that he really realized the other man was not of the stock one would consider a Norden. With a grunt, he nods to the man. "No offense meant. A brother...and sister in chains..." The latter comment being directed to the three sisters. "...is a brother and sister indeed. What brought the rest of you in to such a welcoming cell?"
|Idana, daughter of Winter|
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"Hags are a problem which follow us everywhere we go." Idana says, her one lightning bolt eye flashing. An obvious mark for those who know it.
Idana looks down at the chains.
"I am Idana, daughter of Winter. My sisters, Olyenna the warrior and Elyana the listener. A fat pig thought he could stick his little prod into Elyana. She told him no. He insisted. We insisted he stop. We were outnumbered."
She frowns and looks up.
"I would offer to heal injuries but these runes and this metal block our magic. Another way for the little men to control us."
Kn:Local: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0
I'm assuming the DC is not terribly high to know marks of those borne from hags? Not that it matters with that sweet roll I got.
Sigurd sees the flash in her eyes, the lightning bolt that seems to catch in the dim lighting, and a curious look spreads over his face.
"That mark...I do not know it. What is it?"
Elyana had been quiet fora time as she awaited a response from her "friends" but with none forth coming her expression went sad, "They're not here, they can't hear me." She looked at the manacles, "It must be these things, I need them off." Seeming to register, finally, that everyone was introducing themselves, and approached both Sigurd and Daerdryn to give each a quick peck on the cheek in greeting before she said, "I'm Elyana, Idana told you how we got here already, it doesn't help that my friends made a mess of things too." She smiled wistfully, "They can be very ornery when they want to be." She too had a lightning bolt shaped pupil for one eye, same as her sister's, though her other eye was greenish in color.
"It is one of the many things about us that draw attention, often of the worst kind. Olyenna says, leaning forward so that the shift in the light brought her lightning eye into focus."The pig thought a blade meant he could have his way with my sister. Turned out a woman was faster with a blade than he was."
|Idana, daughter of Winter|
"Your friends are still here." Idana says, her voice growing warmer as she speaks to Elyana. "You just can't hear or see them because of the shackles. I'm sure they want to help but without you to direct them they don't know how."
Sigurd would watch as the one girl who had previously been so quiet suddenly stirs to life and begins to make her way over. There wasn't fear in the large man as she leaned over and placed a peck upon his cheek, instead a soft chuckle leaving him as he sat back. "Quite kind of you, Elyana. Didn't think I'd have a chance at a woman's touch before the executioner's axe found me." There wasn't so much fear in his words, not even when he first spoke. He had simply spoken honestly, though it seemed the other two were the protective ones of the third.
"Well, I am glad that you showed him the error of his ways. Norden women are not to be touched so easily and without a price." Sigurd says with a quick nod, looking towards the other man who had spoken up earlier.
"You, you were with them? Tell me your tale. What brought you here?"
Honestly she wasn't expecting the sudden affection. But that was lost as she got a good look at the lightning bolt the sister's shared. How exactly did they see out of those eyes? Still, her question would have to wait until Kieran added his part of the story.
"Well, Imperial men with uniforms brought me here," Kieran says with a smile and an expression of amusement, at least until a sigh interrupts both for but a moment. "As to what brought them, that would be a bar fight with a somewhat greater number of dead people than one might expect from such an event. And as for its cause, the ladies did elaborate on it rather colorfully."
He sits down, back against the wall, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. "My friend and I, we tried to... calm things down a little, albeit with a moderate use of fists and staves, as in situations such as these words tend to be lost amidst all the... noise."
"We did try them, mind you. Words, I mean. I have never seen so many deaf people in one place before."
Seeming to suddenly realize that Kieran is with them too Elyana went over to greet him the same as she did Sigurd and Daedryn. Whether she really didn't see him or not but judging by her surprised expression at the realization it seemed that the gorgeous changeling woman might not be the most observant person in the world.
Kieran, just a reminder, the imperials that captured you were dressed in clothing typical of the Norden, not in uniforms.
Just as Elyana lets Kieran go, the tramping of boots on stone announces the arrival of Imperials from down the passage. The middle one is a rather rotund man with beady eyes and thinning black hair. His sneer is truly a grotesque thing given his pudgy face. His clothing is expertly tailored, a number of rings adorn his fingers, and golden jewelry seems to flow over his chest like a waterfall. The two Imperials flanking him are in the uniforms of officers and stand tall and proud. One of them steps forward at a gesture from the fat nobleman leading them.
You recognize him as Captain Cevalius Lomar. It seems that his mood has not improved since last you met.
"Do as we say and make no attempt to escape or resist, or we will slaughter you like the mangy curs you are," he tells you, his eyes almost begging you to do just that and give him the excuse.
With that, the door is unlocked and three soldiers come in and chain you to the wall while long spears and crossbows are aimed at your hearts. Once you are chained up, the soldiers step back as the nobleman and the two officers enter.
"Well, well, well. It seems that you have gotten yourselves into quite the predicament," he begins, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mock sympathy. "I suppose that you'll have to serve as an object lesson of the other Norden scum who infest this land." His eyes move from each of you, lingering longer on the women than the men, his thoughts not hard to guess.
"Pity. I could spare you, if you'd be willing to give us what we wanted, but your kind are like stubborn beasts. Even those that wear the skins of Imperials," he sneers, his hate-filled gaze shifting to Kieran at his last words. "Alas, mercy is not mine to give. I do hope you enjoy your stay here. I'm sure your visit to Nettle is going to be much less pleasant. If you want, you may start begging for your lives now."
|Idana, daughter of Winter|
"See, if you had played like this to begin with, maybe my sister wouldn't have rejected you. Its much more attractive than slobbering all over her while you're ten cups into the weak swill you call ale." Idana says.
Its a deliberate choice. The more focus there is on her, the less there is on her sisters. Someone has to protect them once the torture implements come out.
Charisma check to focus attention on me.: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
Well, I did try...
Oops, sorry about that. I blame the holidays for forgetting... And the food. All the glorious food.
Kieran sighs. 'Here, let me show you how it is done,' he thinks with what can only be described as a mental chuckle. A bitter one.
"Well, it is a rather comfortable skin," he speaks up, cutting Idana's words short. "Yours on the other hand seems a little too tight around the..." He pauses for dramatic effect. "I was about to say waist, but you must not have seen that part of your body in many a year. I do apologize for reminding you of its existence." He draws in a sharp breath, fighting back another sigh. "And I wager it is not the only part that has gone missing under all that... roundness."
'I think I should shut up now.'
Charisma: 1d20 ⇒ 15
Sigurd heard the sounds of boots coming and stood up like a riled beast, his expression losing the almost friendly and jovial look and instead being replaced with a feral growl. The fat nobleman made his demands and Sigurd was almost tempted to watch how they would jump back when he went for them. Instead, he remained still and just watched the men with a small, wicked grin on his face. The man was so confident with his enemy in chains and a handful of men with longspears and crossbows aimed at them, pulling a laugh from the barbarian.
"Something wrong, Imperial dog, that you need a whole set of guards to keep us at bay? We don't worry you and your sensitive ways, do we?" Oh, how Sigurd imagined that those beady eyes would bulge if he could wrap his hands around the fat man's throat. When one of the soldiers grew closer, Sigurd would turn his head and bark at him, making the young man jump just a bit back before he laughed again.
That grin only grew wider as the men earned the "beggings" he so wished for from the others, another hard laugh coming from him as Kieran spoke. Yes, these were the kind of prisoners he could respect going to an execution with as the guests of honor. As the man's looks lingered upon the women there, the barbarian's hackles seem to rise as he nodded.
"Don't be so cruel Kieran! He cannot help his mother's teat is so good and kind for such a whiny, fat man! Look how kind he is, by his shape and grease, I'm sure he's suckled her raw. A break was most needed for this child of a man!" The chains would clink tight as Sigurd gets closer, staring hard at the man. "You are fortunate you'll sit far away from us, little child, or I'd love to hear the sound your neck makes with every pop..."
Intimidate: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
"Brave words for dead men!" Said one of the guards, poking the sharpened point into Sigurd's chest and forcing him back with the others. It was hard to be fierce with so many aimed at him and his armor and weapons gone.
It's all she has to say to the all too familiar face of Cevalius Lomar. Nothing about this whole encounter surprised her. She was certainly used to the Captian's "manners." The only difference was how talkative he was now. Speaking from experience she could truly appreciate how much more tolerable he was when he didn't open his mouth.
"You dragged me all the way from Nettle to... wherever we are and now you're taking me back there? Why? What's the point of all this?"
@Elyana: That was the plan, unless one of you killed him.
The fat noble glares at both Sigurd and Kieran for a good long moment before hearing Daerdryn's question.
"Ah, you see, we can't make martyrs of you," he answers her, the sneer coming back in full force as he draws close to the tough woman. "No, when we take you back to Nettle, you will beg for your lives before burning in flame. I look forward to every agonized cry as we break that stubborn pride you share with the rest of your barbaric kin. And if the other Norden beasts do not fall in line, then we'll break them one by one until they do or we cleanse the land of their filth."
With a laugh he walks out, followed by the others.
"Leave them chained up," the noble commands, "a storm comes this night and there will be no reprieve for them."
As Captain Cevalius Lomar locks the door, he looks into Daerdryn's eyes.
"None of your tricks, witch. I know where your children are and I'll gladly make you watch as I show them the true meaning of pain," he says, an unpleasant smile on his face as he takes a step back, then walks away.
I've got one little scene I want to do with Daerdryn before we move on, but don't worry, action is coming soon. Feel free to talk a little, perhaps discuss how painful you're going to make the fat noble's death, and maybe get to know one another a little more.
Later that night, as the rumbles of a storm roll in. One by one, you all manage to drift off into an uneasy sleep, despite the wet and the cold.
The rolling thunder is oddly soothing this night. It sings to your soul, calling out to you. As you slumber, a flash of lightning causes you stir and as your eyes open, a young, richly dressed man reclines on the cot as if it is his throne.
"Hello, my sweet Daerdryn," he purrs as he runs a hand through his black hair, "have you enjoyed my gift?"
Well crap, was going to get something posted after the answer. I'll go ahead and do so anyway. I assumed it was him, but wanted to make sure.
As they were all chained to the wall and the fat man from before spoke to them Elyana half listened to him as she shook her chains a bit and said, "Mmm, chains, how fun, I should get some of my own, I can think of wonderful uses for them." She finally registered Fatman wanted them to give him something and asked sweetly, "What is it you wanted us to do?"
If she was bothered by the thought of being chained up all night the strange beauty didn't show it, if anything she seemed to be enjoying herself. "I wonder if they'll let me keep these? Then I can use them on Fatman and have more fun. Maybe I'll make him into one of my friends...no, Bob wouldn't like him and he'd pick on Fatman. I guess I should just let him go then."