GM Gluttony's The Mother's Maw

Game Master Jigamorphic

In the kingdom of Talingarde, many crimes may send you to Branderscar Prison, but the sentence has but one meaning. You are wicked and irredeemable. Each of you received the same greeting when you arrived. You were held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with a runic F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken' and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the great and eternal love of Mitra and his chosen mortal vassals.

Condemned, you face at best a life of shackles and servitude in the nearby salt mines. Others might await the “gentle” ministrations of the inquisitors so that co-conspirators may be revealed and confessions extracted. Perhaps, some of you will be spared this ordeal. Perhaps instead you have come to Branderscar to face the final judgment. In three days, the executioner arrives and the axe falls or the pyre will be lit. Through fire or steel, your crimes will be answered.

You have all been chained together in the same communal cell dressed in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. Manhandled and mistreated, any finery you once possessed is either ruined or long lost. No special treatment has been given any prisoner – male or female, commoner or noble – all of the forsaken are bound and imprisoned together. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain. Your arms are secured to the wall above by manacles. A guard is posted right outside the cell day and night. Little thought is given to long term accommodations. At Branderscar, justice comes swift and sure.

Escape seems hopeless. You have all been well searched and every attempt to conceal anything on your person has failed. And if you could somehow slip your bonds and fly out of this prison, where would you go? Who from your former life would want anything to do with the forsaken? Despised, alone and shackled – all that you can do now is await your doom.

For each of you, your old life is over. For each of you, hope is a fading memory. For each of you, justice will be fairly meted. And who can blame fair Talingarde after what each of you has done?

Everything ached. That's what she was most aware of - the throbbing of her limbs and the contrast of the cold stone to the fire in her heart.

Slowly lifting her head, Ezra's dark eyes flit from the chains to each of her companions. She studies their faces in silence before clearing her throat.

"So...is the collective plan to go out 'silent as the grave'?"

Erodin is lost in though as he mulled over his situation. How could I have been so careless, he thinks to himself, recalling the events of his capture. He knows that his former teacher would not have been so indiscreet in proclaiming himself as a follower of Urgathoa. Erodin, too, was typically more discrete.

Erodin's thoughts are interrupted by a voice. A woman's voice. He didn't expect a woman in a place like this. He looks up and sees her, dressed in tattered rags. There was probably a pretty woman underneath the rags and filth, but he couldn't see it now.

"What's there to talk about? I'm dead in three days. Maybe you are too. If not, you won't last too much longer working in the salt mines." Erodin squeezes his fingers and palm together, trying to get blood flow back into his manacled arms.

Ezra cocks an eyebrow in the direction of the man speaking. ”Have it your way. Spend your remaining hours sulking. That will show them.”

She lets her gaze fall to her knees. The dress she'd had was now torn, filthy, threadbare. Through the rips, she could see patches of skin missing.

I’m right back where I started..The thought forces a laugh that, promptly, dies in her throat. Back in the filth, back to being powerless. All the years of study to end up like this.

You will never beg for anything again, but the miserable cretins will always win...

Ezra glances up at the manacles around her wrists. "I just thought that talking would help pass the time."

He lingered in silence as two of those criminals who shared his dreary and loathsome cell put words and voice to there shadow obscured visages. His abuses had left one eye swollen shut and the burn imprinted in his pale fleshed arm stood out sharply displayed as his arms hung above his head from manacles. From a quick look, one would assume that all fight had been broken from the dangerous conspirator. His posture was one of the defeated, his face turned downward in despair. Yet a glimpse in his still open eye would reveal a fire to live on, hatred and a lust for revenge kindling a strange perversion of hope.

His bare feet scrapped across the filth encrusted floor, naked flesh rising in goosebumps as they moved across the cold surface. Struggling to rise, his ill fed figure managed to stand for a few moments. His good eye opened and his gaze flicked from Erodin to Ezra, studying them, before he slumped back down and let himself assume once more the posture of the forsaken and defeated.

"There might still be a chance..." The prisoner said in whispered tones. It was clear that his voice was hoarse, lack of water having tightened his vocal cords. "... beyond your ragged clothes, what else within can take a flame?"

If needed he would sacrifice them for even the chance at his own freedom, but they need not know that as of yet. Even in this hopeless pit, awaiting the headsmans ax or the pyre, he was plotting, scheming for a way out.

Jethryk stirs, as the sound of conversation disturbs his sleep; a blessed relief that he has experienced far too little of in recent days. The dirt, rags, gruel, and torture were definitely not things that he was used to, and thus it was to dreams that he tried to escape, albeit without much luck.

"On behalf of those of us who only have a few days left, please be quiet. I would prefer to sleep, and escape the grimness of reality, not be constantly reminded of it by talking about it... Unless you have a concrete plan to avoid our fates, in which case I am all ears."

Erodin shifts his gaze toward the hoarse voice, and sees a man who looks drained and defeated, an eye swollen shut. Yet he spoke words of hope, still plotting escape. Erodin knew better than to believe in escape. But the girl was right, all their talk was distracting him from his seared arm and chafed ankles and wrists. What else to do but to crush what little hope sprung from this man's lips?

"Indeed, I'd like to hear this plan of yours as well, Blackeye. You've been pounded into a lump of dough, but you still don't know you're dead yet. Alright then, how're we gettin' out?" Erodin looks at the slumped man mockingly, eager to prove the man wrong, and himself right.

His head hung facing the ground, lolling back and forth as he tried to draw forth his strength once again. He had been beaten, but he was not defeated until capricious death came for him with the downward swing of an ax-blade. Until that time he knew he must not surrender - while he did not hold out hope of his escape, he might perhaps offer one more unwilling sacrifice to his Pallid Princess. He owed her much and though he had failed her, he had not forgotten her generosity and would do what he could to repay his goddess.

"What if there is a way to extend our stay in Talingarde?"He ran his dry tongue over his lips in an attempt to wet them, before he looked up and pressed his back firmly against the wall. His gaze moved first to the woman who spoke first, before sweeping over the two far more combative men.

"Though my strength has been sapped, my ankles bound and maybe broken, my body and pride bloodied... unlike you, I am not completely helpless." As he said those words, his gaze moved away from them and swept over the interior of the cell, searching for anything that might be of use to him.

He lowered his voice to something barely even audiable and leaned forward, pushing fromt the wall as much as he could. "I will avoid the finer details, for your unenlightened minds likely can not comprehend all that is necessary for the evocation, but let us just say that the goddess provides me still with a token of her esteem. A mere spark of her fury, but it may be enough... to bring forth a fire."

He then let his head hang back down and retreated back to a position a sliver of a degree more comfortable. He shook his head savagely, his teeth clenched as he muttered a curse at himself. "No, no... it is useless, I can bring the guards, but once here... I am still chained." His hope was a flimsy thing and easily broken by the realities of the situation. What good was a fire when he was still chained? Even should he escape the chains, what hope did he have against all of the men who would keep him captive at Branderscar. No, easier to lash out at his cellmates. Perhaps send one of them to the Pallid Princess as a final sacrifice. Then at least he would deny the crown it's 'justice'.

He lifted his head and glared at Erodin. "I take it you can offer nothing, save the rags on your form and your ignorant, mocking tongue?"

Erodin straightens his back and offers a grin to the glaring man. Erodin figured he was clearly succeeding in his task - the man was getting angry with the futility of his situation.

But beneath the smile, Erodin felt a surging anger of his own. This man he spoke to was quite sure of his superior intellect, and the power of his goddess. Probably some good-for-nothing, highborn, Mitra-worshipping nobleman, thought Erodin. But Erodin was no slouch, and he didn't appreciate being called ignorant just because he had a commoner's accent.

"Me? I've got me common sense and me mama's good looks to offer!" Erodin actually had no idea if he looked like his mother, since he had no memory of her. But his older brother always told him that.

"What about you? Blubberin' about the goddess. Y'think Mitra'll save ye now?" Erodin turned to the last remaining person in the cell, the one they had so rudely awakened. He looked like a strong fellow despite all the hardship foisted on them - a man not to be trifled with if you met him on the street. "See, buddy, this guy has no plan at all."

Rage bubbled up inside him at the words that assaulted him from his fellow prisoner. That he had been goaded and mocked by the inquistors and knights of Mitra was one thing, but to be tormented even by this guttersnipe as well... but he grit his teeth and offered the man a calm smile. He kept his head up, unwilling to look away from Erodin. In a cool, controled voice he spoke, careful to enunciate each sylable that escaped from his hoarse throat.

"It is only the foolish, the ignorant, or the sanctimonious thralls of the crown who offer their worship to Mitra." He looked up and whispered under his breath in the language of the dead. For a split second a spark flickered between his thumb and his index finger, but just as quickly it was gone. "The Radiant Queen has not heard so much as a whispered prayer from me in recent years. Her love is false, her promises empty, and her church corrupt."

He offered no further detail at this time, if any of those he was chained with were to be of use to him they would not have missed the flicker of a spark between his grime covered digits. The power his goddess granted him was very much a real thing, not a hollow plea to the unsympathetic queen of light. Even if he was destined for the headsman's ax, perhaps his goddess would make use of his corpse, if not his spirit.

Unbidden a spastic twitch gripped the right side of his body, his back contorted in pain as the muscles seized up. His right arm shook violently in the manacle, causing the chains to rattle until the episode ceased three minutes later.

When he looked up it was clear that he had bitten his lip at some point and a trickle of blood began to dripple along his chin. With a hint of anger reaching his words, he glared at the unhelpful Erodin once more through the eye that was not swollen shut.

"The guards didn't seem to take a fancy toward you, so your looks will avail us little."

They were sniping at each other. "Charming", as Ezra had now dubbed the one, so quick to disprove any chance of escape. So quick to try and tear down the last trickles of hope any of them possessed. She both hated hm for it and reveled in it.

They were going to kill each other before three days time. The thought caused an involuntary smile that disappeared as quickly as it came. If nothing else, here at the end, was a show.

Straining against her manacles, she pushes away from the wall towards the center. The act is accompanied by popping of joints and a flash of pain across her face. "If you don't speak of Mitra, then you speak of Urgathoa." Her gaze settles on the beaten man, daring him to refute her claim.

His response was to the statement of the woman who shared their dreary cell was but a tight lipped smile. He offered no words to refute her claim, nor did he confirm her assertation. He dipped his back down, then raised it up, the smile still playing on his face.

Jethryk sighs deeply, nodding to Erodin.

"I thought as much."

He tries to doze again, but the partial seizure experienced by Artorius piques his interest.

I wonder whether that has a cerebral or peripheral bodily origin? I dare say that dissecting out the nerve pathways, and taking a look at his brain would help...

...but then his shoulders slump.

What is the point of guessing? We will all be dead in three days.

Realising that sleep is probably not going to be probable, at least for moment, Jethryk straightens up, and carefully regards his fellow cell-mates.

"Look, since most of us will probably be dead within the next three days, is there really any point in sniping at one another? I would rather not spend my last three days alive being more miserable than I have to be."

He nods to Artorius.

"I have no strong opinions on any particular deities; as a general rule, I have stayed out of their way, and they have reciprocated the favor by staying out of mine (for the most part)."

Jethryk then offers the rictus of a mirthless smile.

"My name is Jethryk, by the by, and I have been condemned to death for the 'crime' of recognising a drain on society, and how to turn it into cold, hard cash. Who are you lot?"

Erodin is surprised when his debate partner denounces Mitra with such vigor. He's intrigued enough to begin asking a genuine question, when suddenly the man begins twitching violently in his chains, as if possessed. Erodin looks on with a mix of revulsion, curiosity, and a little fear. Although he was about to die anyway, Erodin didn't particularly want his soul to become enslaved by some pyromantic devil.

When the spasms finally subside, the tall man suggests that they end their sniping - but Erodin was already distracted by the spasms, and by the insightful question asked by the girl. He decides he might as well introduce himself.

"Ho, Jethryk. I'm Erodin Stark, but you can call me "Arrow," or "Stark." He doesn't mention that other smugglers still called him "Little Boy," because he got into the business so young... and in part because he was thin and not particularly tall. "I'm a trader of sorts, but I'm here b'cause I couldn't keep me mouth shut." Erodin pauses for a moment, wondering if he should keep his mouth shut this time -- but he was intrigued by the discussion of Urgathoa. "I was lookin' to throw my lot in with some worshippers of Urgathoa -- I thought it'd be a better life than the one I was livin'. But I picked the wrong ones to talk to, so here I am."

Jethryk shrugs.

"Well, I don't think talking civily amongst ourselves is going to land us in any more trouble than we currently are, so feel free. Still, as much as it has any meaning any more, well met, Stark."

In the small second of silence that followed his tight lipped smile, Ezra felt a quiet sense of camaraderie. However fleeting, she gave a small nod to the broken man even as the others began introductions.

The sleeper, the tall one, started it. At the end of his introduction, she quirks a brow but says nothing. "Charming" promptly took up the slack.

Names were pretty, but, ultimately, useless. Then again, what did any of them have if not for this last shared moment? Proving to one another, and the guard outside, that they were not alone. That the "good people of Talingarde" still had much to fear.

She leans back against the wall and licks her lips. "My name is Ezra Winter. I would say that it's lovely to meet you two, but under the present circumstance…" She pauses just a moment, weighing her words. "I'm here because of a discourse I had with a creature. Though, I am sure, that if anyone had done their proper research, I would have been tried with much, much more."

At this, Ezra casts a pointed glance at the door.

Yet, even she knew, there were worse people to spend her final hours with than a possible mercenary, a blasphemer, and another obvious worshipper of Urgathoa. Certainly, she could have been in the same cell with fat, spoiled noblemen crying out to Mitra to save them from themselves.

Turning back to her fellows, she gives a small smile. "I am sorry to hear of your misfortunes, Erodin. How did you first hear of Urgathoa? And, Jethryk, I am curious of which particular drain on society you went about...fixing..."

Any further conversation is cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps thudding upon the stone floor outside. After much jingling and the click of keys entering the lock, the door swings open.

Nearly blinded by the sudden rush of light, you all watch a patrol of six heavily armed prison guards file into the cramped cell. Entering behind them is a fat, well-dressed officer, obviously of no small rank. You all immediately recognize him as Tomas Blackerly, Sergeant of the Watch. This was the man who personally branded each and every one of you, slowly lowering the hot iron to your skin and pressing it there for several agonizing moments.

He laughed as your skin burned.

He now stands before you, albeit strangely out of it, seemingly dazed.

Blackerly points a thick finger at none other than the man who was previously overtaken by the spasming fit. He barks gruffly:

"All of you, no more talking! And you there! That's the scum! Get 'em unshackled. If any of you makes trouble, they'll earn a thrashing!

Today's your lucky day, scum. You've got a visitor. How you ever warranted such a fine lady is beyond me. Seems she wants to say good-bye. Now step lively. Wouldn't want to keep her waiting."

At this two of the guards move in and throw a coarse burlap sack around Artorius' face, and then unshackle him before roughly pulling him to his feet and escorting him out of the room. After another slam of the door and a turn of the key, those of you remaining are thrown back into the darkness with only the sound of receding footsteps to listen to.

For speed of play, I am assuming that none of you are going to try anything, mainly because your options are limited with the heavy shackles. However, if any of you do, I will go back to amend this scene. If Artorius would like to do something that may provoke a reaction, post it here and DON'T read the spoiler yet. Otherwise, continue on, Artorius, but post only in spoilers until you return to the cell. Obviously, the rest of you shouldn't read any of Artorius' spoilers, but feel free to continue the conversation.

Erodin turns away and closes his eyes as the light streams in. Realizing it's the Sergeant of the Watch, Erodin squints, trying to conceive what the Sergeant was up to. But the light was just too overwhelming. As the door slams shut and darkness returns, Erodin blinks, taking in the darkness once more.

"Well, I'll be. Who would've though smartypants had a lady friend." Erodin tries to speak lightly, but the envy in his voice is unmistakable. Erodin sighs heavily.

For clarification, have we been unshackled from the wall (albeit with feet still shackled together like a chain gang), or not?

Jethryk mutters under his breath, after the Sergeant has left:

"I hope that one meets a slow, painful end."

He then shrugs in response to Erodin's comment.

"Fat lot of good a lady friend will do him, now. Still, it is a bit odd that anyone would visit a prisoner here... He must have had a truly powerful sway over her..."

Sorry Jethryk, you three are still shackled tight.

I just thought I should ask - apparently, the Sergeant does not understand proper grammatical construction ;-)

Artorius seemed ready to talk as well, his mouth opening to issue forth his own tale, when the march of heavy booted feet sounded in the hallway beyond their cell. Artorius silenced himself and let his head hang down once more, his posture returning fully to one of feigned inactivity. He played the role well, drawing upon his past skill as an actor to heighten the impression of despair and defeat conveyed by his bruised, branded and rag covered form.

His gaze went to that cretin Tomas Blackerly, studying him as he sought for some means of diversion. Fear gripped him for a moment, thinking that his time to go before the ax had come early, but something was off and when Tomas made mention of a woman some of that fear mixed with curiosity. He did not struggle as they unchained him and continued the act of being defeated and compliant. He'd rather them not know how much strength and will to fight remained in him.

He had not the vaguest idea who this lady who had come to visit him was and stared hard at Blackerly, trying to read something from the Sergeant's face before the burlap sack obscured all his vision.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

There was no backward glance at the other prisoners, not that it would mean much with a sack covering his head, nor were any words spoken. Artorius shuffled forward, his feet feebly holding up his body and his steps awkward and ungainly. Soon enough he disappeared beyond the sight of the shared cell, escorted away by the hateful sergeant and his guards.

In short order, Artorius is thrown back into the cell, and shackled yet again, although he now seems to be clutching something that looks to be a scrap of silk. Not all of the guards completely leave however; this time around you can hear two of them posted just outside the door.

The light is blinding and Ezra shuts her eyes tight. After a moment, she opens them and tries to perceive the visitors. Dots swim across her gaze, partially obscuring the faces of their "company."

But the voice...that she would recognize anywhere. Her fists clench, dirty nails biting into her palms, as she glares at that dimwitted cur, Tomas Blackerly. In his general direction, at the least.

Just as her eyes begin to adjust, the boots leave and the darkness returns once more. The broken man's spot was now vacant.

Well, that's certainly the last one I would have suspected...

"She could be here to slap him..." Ezra shrugs, trying to keep her tone even. "It's not completely inconceivable, after all."

She's not given long to ponder the thought as their fellow is soon thrown back inside and shackled again. Though he hasn't come back empty-handed. Ezra leans forward and squints, trying to determine the item. A token from his sweetheart, perhaps? "Welcome back to our humble abode, loverboy. Do tell us of your grand escapade from this dark cell into a woman's arms."

He was dragged back into the cell and while no fresh bruises or welt covered his body, he moved with little resistance as the guards once more shackled him in place. He let out a bitter cough and let his head hang low for several moments. When Erza spoke to him, he looked up and blinked his eye a few times.

"It is what you would expect of a condemned man and his lover. Tears, kisses, and the rest. I would have liked for a meal and it was regretablly over all too quick. All over... all over..." He hung his head once more and let out a despairing groan.

It was not until several minutes later that he spoke once more, his words a whisper in a language not heard often in Talingarde, but he went with a hunch and hoped that at least one of his cellmates would pick up that he was uttering more then just hissing nonsense.

"আমি মিথ্যা বক্তব্য রাখেন. রক্ষিবাহিনী আবশ্যক ... সত্য জানি না. এই ভাষা শুধুমাত্র হ্যাঁ বলুন, যদি ... আপনার কথায় আমি কথা বলার জন্য আপনি ইচ্ছুক না বুঝতে ... মৃত্যুদন্ড." The words were almost a silken hiss, seducingly pleasing to the ears.

He hesitated and then after letting his head roll back and forth, he switched languages and began speaking in a hoarse, gutteral whisper. The language seemed almost to freeze the blood, even in this whispered tone.

"நான் பொய் பேசினார். காவலர்கள் வேண்டும் ... உண்மை தெரியாது. இந்த மொழியில் மட்டுமே சம்மதிக்கிறேன் ... நான் பேச உனக்கு வேண்டாம் வார்த்தைகளை புரிந்து கொள்ள ... மரணதண்டனை."

He waited for an answer. Though he had no great love of these three, they were tools he could not ignore and despite his earlier words they very well could be the allies he needed in his pursuit of something more than a date with the headsman's ax.

He kept the bunched up silk in his grasp, but he had seen two that were of particular interest. These were criminals he was chained with after all. Perhaps one of them could slip the shackles with the proper tools.

Erodin remains silent as the mysterious man returns. He was the most curious member of the lot - secretive to a fault, he hadn't even shared his name yet. But Erodin was not keen on asking more questions while while guards stood immediately outside the door - they might decide to give him a beating out of annoyance, or simply boredom. Minutes pass, when the stranger starts uttering hissing nonsense. Was he being possessed again? thought Erodin, who thought it might be connected to the seizures.

But then the man uttered more guttural tones, ones Erodin knew. And his words spoke of conspiracy. Perhaps it was simply an act of petty revenge for Erodin's taunting, some false hope to offer and then crush. If so, this man played the game far too well.

Ezra nods at the man and quietly turns her attention elsewhere. The guards still stood at the door, always listening. She had a few choice words for their ears, but she would save them for the pyre.

Moments pass and that's when she hears the seductive and thrilling hiss of a language she hadn't heard anyone else speak in a long time.

The guards must not know the truth.

She opens her mouth to respond as his words turn into some guttural, whispered nonsense. If there are words there, she certainly doesn't know them. However, Erodin quickly answers him and she wonders if he hadn't been given the same information. Then again, he could just be mocking him.

Either way, there is only one answer that she can give in this instant.

Jethryk nods at Ezra's words.

"That would actually make a lot more sense..."

When Artorius returns, he is disappointed to see that the man has no new bruises.

Well, I guess it *was* a pleasurable social visit, after all...

A few minutes later, when the man starts talking gibberish, he pays him no heed, but then, when he starts speaking in an all too familiar patois of whispers, Jethryk perks up considerably.

Well, well...

It seemed that at first he had been too quick to judge, for he underestimated the individuals he shared a cell with. Any who spoke the tongue of devils or the dead were capable and had more to them then what the naked eye perceived. He would have chided himself, but he had self corrected his earlier mistake and now perhaps they could work together in the grand goal of escape. Any lack sophistication could be later tempered or molded as his designs dictated.

His jaw twisted and his lips contorted as he fought another spasm which slid across his face, but he seemed to have defeated it, at least for the moment. When each of the three replied in turn, he gave a satisfied smile.

He spoke first in Necril and then quickly followed once more in infernal. Breaking up his words every now and then to throw off the guards who might have been listening.

"It seems not all hope has departed, for my princess has not forsaken me. Her aid extends in turn to you three, should you have the strength and skill you make our escape a reality." He uttered the words in each language in a low whisper and even as he spoke he loosened a finger on the gossamer veil he balled up in his hand, letting some of it trail free and over his face. It dangled before him, much in the same way he dangled a thread of hope to each he spoke to.

He suspected the magic in it, but could not be certain, however he dared not reveal his uncertainty to the convicted about him. It was better he followed his gut and led without hesitation. His one good eye scrolled across the veil until it fell upon the item of his desire.

"I have shelter for us beyond this cell. I will share it with you when the time is upon us... First however we need to free ourselves from these shackles. I have the tools, but not the skill. We are chained criminals, surely one among us can open a lock?" With these words he switched the order of communication, speaking first in language of hell, then repeating himself in the ghoul-tongue.

His plan would be useless if one among them was not capable of such a task, though he supposed there was something else he might try. While waiting for a reply, he slyly looked beyond the bars of the cell and cocked his head to listen to the conversation of the guards. Perhaps they would let spill some useful tidbit or when their shift ended.

"We must move with care, for we have but one attempt at this. Our freedom will not be gained without the shedding of blood and I would far prefer a puddle of gore from the King's men, than another drop of my own perish vitae." He broke his silence after seven long minutes with more whispered words in Necril and Infernal.

Artorius believed his earlier plan of the spark might still have some use to it and let his eyes rove the inside of the cell, seeking out anything that might potentially be useful.

Languages are in Necril and Infernal. For ease of reading and because I am repeating the same thing to all, I just posted it in english.

Erodin grows still as the mysterious man speaks. His body is tense, yet ready to spring - even though no action seemed possible. It was simply his instincts, telling him to be ready as danger approached. When asked about opening a lock, he replies simply.

Erodin wasn't sure what tools this man really had. He just waits, ready to seize any opportunity.

His gaze focused on Erodin's face, studying him, trying to determine whether he was truthful in his words or just wanted to contribute. He would not risk this endevour to the follies of pride. Yet no other spoke up and something about the simple reply hinted at a genuine sincerity. He paused for a few moments, trying to remember Erodin's name, before he glanced toward the bars and spoke in the hushed groaning of necril.

"ஸ்டார்க், நீங்கள் உங்கள் பத்திரங்களில் முடியும் என அருகில் இருந்த பெற முயற்சி. நேரம் நீங்கள் தோல்வி வேண்டும் வரும்போது. நான் காவலர்கள் வர மாட்டேன் குறிப்பிட்ட வரை ஆயினும் நான் நகர மாட்டேன்." He spoke between pauses, the gutteral words lower even then his previous whispers as he craned his face forward toward Erodin.

"நான் அவர்கள் இந்த செல்கள் பார்க்க எப்படி அடிக்கடி தெரியாது. அல்லது நான் அங்கு ரோந்து தெரியும். நாம் கண்காணிக்க வேண்டும். அவதானிக்கவும் மற்றும் கற்று, பின்னர் நோக்கம் நகர்த்த."

He sensed that Erza did not follow, but rather then repeat the whole plan, he merely said four quick words in the devil tongue. "আমরা অপেক্ষা ঘড়ি"

GM - I am trying to get an impression of the attentiveness of the guards and overhear any conversations they might be having. My perception would be +4 if needed.

No check needed. Based on the fact that the guards' talk is hardly audible through the heavy wooden door, you doubt that they can hear your whispers at all.

Also, if everyone wants to, I could advance you to the next day and you could have spent the rest of the day and night observing when the watch shifts.

There was hope. A chance so long as someone could open a lock. Erodin mutters something that she presumes is a yes. After that, the threads of her understanding unravel as the conversation moves into the foreign tongue.

She leans back against the wall and listens to the strange mutterings, amusing herself by guessing where one word ends and another begins. Just as she begins to drift off, there's a hiss of words - a command.

The beginnings of a smirk make their mark upon her face as her eyes focus on the door.

I am in favor of that plan, Gluttonous GM.

I'd also favor that, as then we would have the information to plan. Knowing when they come to feed us (if at all), how many, which hours they seem to wander away or sleep on watch, etc.

I have no problem with waiting and watching. I dare say the best time to try anything would be at night, though.

Agree to wait a day. Making our move at night does seem best.

I'm going to go ahead and make an unmodified perception check for your group as a collective, but I am going to need to know if all of you stayed up (possible save against exhaustion) or if you took the night in shifts. I also took the liberty of rolling to see if Artorius could conceal the veil.
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

After a long and possibly sleepless night (and day) of watch, you discover the schedule to be fairly straightforward.

The guards outside the door change every eight hours; first at midnight, then again at eight in the morning, and finally at four in the afternoon.

The eight o'clock guards open the door, entering briefly to stuff a meager amount of stale bread down your throats, washed down by not nearly enough dusty tasting water. One guard enters, while the other stands by the door. Thankfully, the water giver doesn't notice Artorius' tightly clenched fist and the two guards soon leave to resume their posts.

By midnight of the second day you are certain of the way the guards shifts work. Two new guards have just arrived, leaving you with eight hours until the next watch; eight hours with which to set a plan of escape in motion.

In Necril, but not spoilered for ease of viewing...

"So, what resources do we have, and what do we plan to do? Whilst my first priority is simply getting out of here, if we could... deal... with that Sergeant on the way out, it would certainly be pleasing.

If we can get unshackled, we should be able to adopt positions around the door, and then (hopefully) take out the guards. We need to be careful to not let them raise the alarm."

I think we should have taken the night in shifts. Everyone would have to agree to it, but that is my thought, for what it's worth. Which, admittedly, is not much.

Ezra stares at Jethryk. So I'm the only one that doesn't speak that terrible muttering. This could be...problematic later on.

Her gaze shifts to the Broken Man, as she has taken to calling him. Lowering her voice to a whisper, her lips begin to form words in the devil-tongue. To those unfamiliar with the language, only one word would stand out - "Blackerly"

Sure, night shifts. Also, so glad the veil was not spotted.

He was ragged with sweat and worry. He suspected he only barely kept the veil hidden and that was the easy part of this plan. First they needed to get free. Then they needed to silently and quickly murder the two watchmen. After that they needed to make their escape - which he knew was far more difficult then the simple phrasing that took shape in his mind.

When his companions spoke again, he knew that they could delay no longer. He unrolled the veil once more and let it hang down over his face, as he spoke, first in Infernal and then in Necril. The words remained low as a whisper, but their was an agitated urgency to them. His muscles ached and it was clear he was in pain by the look on his face. Apparently long stays in a prison cell did not agree with him.

"অশুভ শব্দ, অশুভ পরিকল্পনা. পালাবার মধ্যে আলোচনা." The low, silibent whisper slid from his lips. They reached out and found the listening ears of Erza and it was clear his words were meant for her.

Then came the low, gutteral rumblings and rattling breaths of Necril. His words were slow and occassionaly the silence was punctuated by the skittering of rodent feet heard within this deep dungeon. "கெட்ட வார்த்தைகள், கெட்ட திட்டங்கள். தப்பித்தல் பேச்சு."

When he finished the words in Necril, doubt lingered in his mind. There was the distinct possibility that he was grasping at straws and was foolishly thinking the veil more than a simple gossamer cloth. Yet he dashed those doubts aside and he followed his gut instinct. If he was wrong, the executioner's ax awaited him.

Artorious suddenly strained against his shackles and tried to get near to Erodin. Dangling the veil in front of his face, he pushed it around with his aquiline nose until the patch with the theives tools came before him. Using his teeth, he sought to rip the patch off and hold it within his mouth, preparing himself should the patch suddenly become manifest into the genuine artical. He suspected due to the arrangement of the shackles that he'd be able to reach far close with his face, craning his neck and back to get near to Erodin Stark's hands.

Still pessimistic about their chances of escaping, Erodin decides to keep his comments to himself. He would try to escape, surely, but if that failed, he was going to take down as many of his captors as he could.

Using his flexibility and his skill at escaping, he slides himself as close to the mystery man as possible. Perhaps he could use his teeth to grip whatever tools the man would conjure.

Raven waits patiently; now that the prospect of release, moments ago but a forlorn, diaphanous hope, has become much more concrete, he can afford to stay still.

It would seem that the epileptic one is not without resources.

In Necril:

"What resources, exactly, do we have at our disposal?"

Ezra listens, silent, to his plan. All the while, quickly formulating one of her own. She has no quarrel with Erodin getting the shackles off. Indeed the bruising, aching, and chafing was a source of endless discomfort. However, will he actually unlock hers?

She was well aware of being the only one in the small group unable to understand that guttersnipe they insisted in grumbling at one another. There was no telling what they were saying right in front of her. She could be their sacrifice. They could be planning to leave her to take the fall. Until they escaped, all of them, she was going to do her best to ingratiate herself with them. After they were out, well, who cared? They could run off and create an undead circus as far as she was concerned.

She leans forward and speaks in a sibilant whisper. "বিদ্রূপকারী সম্ভবত ভাল কাজ করে - এটি একটি টাস্ক আমি নিশ্চিত আমাদের কোনো হ্যান্ডেল করতে পারে. যদি প্রয়োজন হয়, আমি দরজার সামনে পাথ রগড়ানি প্রচেষ্টা করতে পারে. এটা সাহায্য করতে পারে. অবশ্যই"

Here she lowers the lashes on her deep set eyes, glancing at the floor for a split second. "আমি আপনার কমান্ড এ থাকা."

Men were always eager to think women weak or attracted to them. Or, often, both. While he was not, by any measure of the imagination, a simpleton, he was still a man. And she was a woman willing to do anything to get out of this god-forsaken cell. Even burn the entire nation down. – Now there's a thought.

She leans back, watching him fiddle with the veil and then stretch as far as he could, attempting to move something to Erodin. She could move it for everyone, of course, but she kept that to herself. If things went awry, she would involve herself. For now, she watches the proceedings with interest.

The moment Artorius rips the milky white patch from the veil it is gone, replaced by a genuine set of thieves tools which Artorius now holds between his teeth!

After much muffled grunting and contorting on the part of he and Erodin, the tools have exchanged hands.

Could this be your ticket to escape?

Erodin has acquired a masterwork set of thieves tools (+2). While your hands remain manacled however, you suffer a -2 penalty. The old locks are very similar, giving you a further +2 bonus to pick the rest once you've opened one. They will also not jam on a roll failed by five or more, however, they will grate and make enough noise to possibly alert the guards. There are eight locks (feet and hands) all at DC 20.

He smiled when the thief tools were taken from his mouth. It was a grim thing and devoid of any warmth of frivolity. Now the tools were in the hands of Erodin. Hopefully they proved hands far more capable then his own in escaping from their shackles. Balling up the veil within his hand, he looked over to Ezra. There was little he could do now save wait, so he filled the time with the whispered words of still developing plan.

""আপনি সক্ষম বুনা জাদু যাও? চমৎকার. এটি একটি দুর্দান্ত প্রতিভার এক এবং আমরা সম্ভবত ব্যবহার ঠিক হিসাবে আপনি প্রস্তাবিত পারেন." He said calmly, keeping his voice low. He let his gaze dart to Erodin every few moments.

Erodin is surprised the veil really works. But begins working on his manacles immediately. As he does so, he states with a guttural hiss:

As he begins working on his own hand manacles, he senses that the locks are rather simple. It wasn't a matter of whether he could free them, but whether he could do so quietly. He begins working on a slow and steady pace.

If necessary, feel free to interrupt as I do this. I just don't want to keep us waiting around for my rolls.

Disable Device, Erodin's hands: 1d20 + 10 + 2 - 2 ⇒ (11) + 10 + 2 - 2 = 21 Success!
Disable Device, Erodin's feet: 1d20 + 10 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 10 + 2 + 2 = 29 Success!

Erodin slides quietly out of his chains. He slips toward Jethryk, speaking again in the tongue of the undead.

It wasn't clear to Erodin who best to choose among the remaining two. However, it was easier for him to explain to the man than the woman, who did not share the language. He moves toward Ezra.

Finally, Erodin positions himself before his savior, the man who would let them go down fighting, if not escape outright. He works on the manacles first.
Artorius's hands: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (17) + 14 = 31 Success!
Artorius's feet: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (14) + 14 = 28 Success!
Helping the last man out of his chains, Erodin looks at him and speaks simply.

Jethryk winces as he finally has the chance to stretch his wrists and ankles, after far too long caught in the manacles. Massaging some life into his poor extremities, he wordlessly nods his thanks to Erodin.

That one is definitely competent when it comes to locks... One does not really have to guess at his chosen profession...

He watched as Erodin deftly escaped from the locks, one by one, each manacle opened and released it's prisoner. He only struggled once on the locks and while a moment of nervousness gripped him as he remained chained and each of the villains were freed before he was, it soon passed when he too was released from the cool iron grip of the shackles.

He was momentarily too weak to rise and let himself rest on his hands for a moment. He drew in a slow, deep breath and then spread the veil out before him.

Carefully he pulled off another of the patches, this one depicting two crossed daggers and gingerly set them on the ground when (if?) they too transformed into true killing instruments.

He turned his head to Ezra and got slowly to his feet. One eye remained still closed, swollen shut with an ugly purple bruise standing boldly out against his pale flesh.

"আপনি বলেন আপনি দরজা বাক্পটুতাপূর্ণ আগে ভূমি আপনার ম্যাজিক ব্যবহার করতে পারেন. কিছু প্রয়োজন আরো? আমি প্রস্তুত সময়ে যারা ​​নিজেদের আদায় সঙ্গে হত্যা লিখুন আমাদের দুই জোটের নির্দেশ দেওয়া হবে." He said in the seductive whisper of the devil's tongue. His eye darted away from Ezra to the door as he spoke.

Focusing on the heavy iron door, he tried to determine how much, if anything the guards would be able to see from outside. Would they be able to determine whether Erodin and Jethryk were in their shackles from an initial glance? If so, it might better serve for them all to fake still being locked up.

He gestured to the veil he had spread upon the ground, peeling away the unholy symbol of the Pallid Princess. He would need that more than any of the others.

• 2 daggers (X)
• Bullseye lantern
• Coil of rope
• Bulging sack
• Thieves Tools (X)
• Window
• Potion of some sort
• Small stack of gold
• Unholy Symbol of Urgathoa (X)

He turned to Jethryk and Erodin and in a whisper of the language of the unliving he explained the next course of action as he saw it.

""நான் ஜன்னல், கொள்ளையடிக்கப்பட்ட, அல்லது நஞ்சு போன்ற பானம் பரிமாறுகிறேன் செயல்பட சரியாக என்ன நிச்சயமற்ற தான், ஆனால் நாம் ஜன்னல் மற்றும் நம் தப்பிக்க வைக்க கயிற்றில் பயன்படுத்த கூடும் வெளிப்புற சுவர்களில் ஒரு பெற முடியும் என்றால். ஒருவேளை முதல் இருப்பினும் இந்த தப்பிக்க வேண்டும் செல். எனது சிந்தனை காவலர்கள் அவமதித்து என்னை மற்றொரு pummeling கொடுக்க அவர்களை கவரும் ஆகும். "