Dot on in folks.
Dot
Solomon marks his territory.
Solomon marks his territory.
Malleck makes him a unich...
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 judgement. 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?
Still not acceptive of the situation, Xeram occasionally rackles his shackles.
Curses, where did that spell go wrong? It should have worked and make me an all powerful lich, not send me to another world.
Sure, this turn of events is an unpleasant setback, but setbacks are obstacles to be overcome. Just like those ignorant heroes who came to my tower, i shall see the death of that Balin.
Malleck was still. His eyes closed. Mere seconds... seconds. Then she had to come in. No matter. In a few days it will be over. But should he get a second chance. Her amd who ever else helped will be his
His long hair matted and dirty. Even here his pale skin seemed paler than normal. Other than that. He looked like was well muscled. Eyes closed and thinking. His aura was still pallible
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Gertrart looked at the manacles, trying to size up the metal it was forged with and the lock that might be broken open. Bones? rat-tooth? what if I broke my wrist? Or maybe just get it bloody?. The blood on his hands had already dried, it wouldn't make the bonds any looser. Gertrart almost smiled at that, it wasn't his blood.
He looked for excuses to taunt the guard outside his cell with. "Standing around. How long you been at this old [wo]man? How long have stood here collecting pay. How long has it been since you've lifted a spade, cleaned a sink, or kneeded dough? When was the last time you did more work than standing around. How long has it been since you used that [sword]? I mean really used, not on anything already bound?" He keeps it up for as long as he can. Repeating the same insults of guards getting paid for what most folk get fired for: standing around.
For a short break he will look at the others in the cell. "Was it worth it? Did you know the risk when you did it? Do you regret it now?" He almost laughs. "I don't. I'd do it again. I won't miss a detail like that the next time." He continues to evaluate the iron, taunt the guard, and plan for his next act. "Oh yeah, I'll do it again."
What a curious individual. He shows traits of both the orcs and humans.
One would pity the women taken by the orcs...but that one isn't me.
"You there, the bad joker.
These egocentrical do-gooders don't respond to that.
Virtuous folk tend to be used to taunting, the only way to get to them is by killing. Yet, since we are chained down like this, i suggest you save your energy for when we are loose."
"Regret?" Mordecai answers, eyes closed, weary look on his face. "No. They deserved to burn, for sure. Was it worth being imprisoned, and most likely executed? Hard to say.. Perhaps.." But if it is a pyre they're planning for me, it'll be quite a firework...
The young tiefling opens his eyes, yellow and alien in color. He studies his cellmates, wondering what is behind their incarceration.
. . .
I am dotting.
The tall, unnaturally pale 'man' slowly wakes up. Following his sentencing, the Inquisitors he had tricked took the opportunity to vent their displeasure; the experience was a bruising one. He has been unconscious for some time.
Slowly stretching himself to his full height (as much as the chains will permit), he looks around with his yellow, slightly glowing, eyes. His darkvision and low-light vision grant him a full view of the scene, much to his dismay.
"So. This is Branderscar." He examines the runic F on his left arm. "But where are my manners?! I must apologise." He bows, floridly, with a rattling of chains. "Vosil Comarenza, here convicted of High Treason. Can I advise that you not annoy the Mitran Inquisition? They tend to take it personally..."
His face (and presumably the rest of him) is mottled with bruises, disfiguring his unnaturally pale skin.
Xeram turns his head at the other man who spoke up.
Inquisition....bothersome paladins and clerics.
But that last one was amusing though, certainly so. Their egocentric leader fell to dust when i pointed my finger at him, the look on their faces.
"High treason you say? What did you do to have yourself imprisoned?"
Malleck sighed. He finally raises his head. His eyes grey, almost dead.
"Does it matter what got us in here? All that matters is that we are. So either have an escape plan, or wait till death. There is nothing more to it than that"
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Vosil offers a wry look "I still maintain that the theory was sound, I think it was an issue with the execution - ha, an unfortunate choice of words there! I ran a spy network for them: you know, dig around, find things out, charm people..." He smiles, winningly, before wincing as his bruised skin protests against the movement.
"Anyway, long story short, I did some spying on them, found out a few secrets." He is carefully vague on this point. "I was going to make a few things public, but they got to me first. The charge of treason was just their way of emphasising the point, I think. Well, that and the beating..."
"What about yourself? Might I have a name?"
In the back corner, a man-sized vermin is huddled and chittering to himself. Nothing covers his body at all except for the bleached white fur, which is matted and crimson at the ankles where he's been furiously chewing at himself off and on for the past few minutes. It's an unnerving site, accentuated by the way his eyes seem to mirror what little light creeps its way into the forsaken cell.
Again he snaps at his ankles, grinding at the flesh, but stops quickly with a stifled squeak.
He wishes he had it in him, the tenacity to chew enough of his leg off to slip from of the manacles. But every time he tries he's overcome by the pain of it and ceases his gnawing just after breaking the skin. It creates a messy looking scene, but is hardly as gruesome as it appears.
He watches the others, but says nothing. They don't know that he understands them. They don't know that he speaks their tongue. But he's ready to retaliate should they turn on him.
Once again he gnaws at the leg, reeling at the forgotten pain and ceasing.
The over 6 foot tall, dark skinned elf at the end of the shackle line with eyes closed, breaths in a slow rhythmic pattern. At first you may have thought him passed out, until you realize the lengths of his chains above him are not actually stretched taunt and that he has been standing there listening to your and the others words.
Once again he gnaws at the leg, reeling at the forgotten pain and ceasing.
"That's not such a good idea. Even if you do manage it, how will you escape without that limb? You do not seem as dumb as your vermin counterparts, trust me, I've spoken to them, let your appendage be. we don't want you to bleed out now, would we?
he shakes his head, poor rat, being cursed to be separate from his own kind
Keeping his eyes closed, the dark elf whispers, "May I suggest, if you are going to keep talking they way you are, that you keep your voices down. I am unsure of the acoustics in this cell, but would it not harm your plans if the guard overheard you?"
It has been hours since you were chained up in the cell, with nothing but the presence of your fellow condemned to keep you company. The searing pain on your forearm where you were branded is a constant reminder of the crimes you have committed, whether repentant or not. The grinning face of Sergeant Tomas Blackerly as he pressed the hot iron into your flesh is just as indelibly seered into your memory, as the scar is to the flesh. It comes as a bit of a surprise to you when you hear voices coming from the hallway outside your cell. You hear a key scrape into the lock, and the groan as the door is opened, and in comes Blackerly himself, looking a little dazed.
Blackerly scans around the room and spots Mordecai “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. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”
Mordecai is unshackled by the guards and roughly manhandled (tieflinghandled?) out of the cell and into the hallway. Down the hall, Mordecai is pushed through a doorway and roughly sat down in a chair.
The creature stops his chewing and stares at the one who addressed him. Something seems cold about him, more like the corpses Solomon has been experimenting with than the humans he's avoided.
"I can hop-hop." He mumbles, referencing the potential escape without one of his leg. "And maybe... reattach it, no?" He looks down at his foot with a look of uncertainty. That sort of alchemy, the manipulation of life and tissue, wasn't something he'd figured out yet. So proposing as much was nothing but a ruse. "But Skrivven rather lose his foot than lose his head. Better trade. How else do we get out? Tools gone-gone!"
There waiting for him is a hauntingly beautiful woman in an elegant black dress and soft silken veil. She looks as if she is headed to a funeral. Her hair is so platinum as to be white, and her eyes are a vibrant unearthly green. She clearly has been weeping.
“Oh, dearest,” proclaims the unfamiliar woman. “I’m so relieved you’re alive!” She quickly turns to Tomas. “Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity’s sake?”
Tomas goes blank for a bit and then quickly agrees. “Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.”
As soon as the guards leave, her demeanor immediately changes. She drops all pretense of grief or concern. She is immediately all business.
“Have you forgotten me, dearest?” the unexpected visitor says with a smirk, dropping her pretense of grief. “Call me Thiadora. We possess a mutual friend who would like to meet you and your fellow cell-mates. Unfortunately, our friend is unwilling to visit you in your present rather shabby accommodations so it seems you must escape. Don’t be so dour. Just because it’s never been done before is no reason you can’t be the first.”
“If you manage that, cross the moors on the outskirts of town. On the old Moor Road you’ll see a manor house with a single lantern burning in the second story. There our mutual friend waits. That is all I know. He did want me to give you this.”
She takes off her silken veil and wipes away a few fake tears with it.
“Something to remember me by, dearest.”
"7 now to 6. He won't come back."
"I don't think so, the captain said someone waned to say goodbye, I doubt they will kill him just yet. They did say in a few days, not right away. Now stop chittering and calm yourself. "
He looks at the drow "I'm not planning on escaping. No one does, was trying to avoid that the rat chews his leg off and we sit with a corpse in the cell"
When the guard is gone, he looks at Skrivven again
"Besides, if you... hop-hop.. they will just be able to cut you down while laughing. Don't give these inbreds that satisfaction. I know how much they like going at those that do not conform... I would have been one of them, but my path took a turn for the better. I renounced them, and i tried to do it in a very dramatic way... the rest i might tell if we actually see each other on the other side"
Solomon calms himself, while observing the "paladin" inquisitively. "You think you... we, might get out of this? Rats can sneak-sneak and squeeze, what is your plan?
"No, I mean if we see each other in the after life, after we die. Till then, we wait i assume"
"Then if we are to die, I'm not sitting here and waiting for it!"
He wishes he had his formula here. He could etch his circles in the stone floor, or trace them in the dust; he could push the limits of his body to break free or wriggle loose; or he could try and blow a passage through the back wall...
"I am sneaky-sneaky." he begins to plead with the others. "Help me get out and I will give you all the opportunity." his whiskers and left eye are twitching as he speaks, frantic to leave his shackles.
"I understand my little rat friend, just be calm, who knows, maybe something comes up, or we die together"
"I'm not that keen on being hanged, drawn and quartered, if it comes to that; but let's wait for the other to return, shall we?" The pale man speaks quietly. If there's to be an escape, he wants in; but he'll wait and see what develops.
"No one ever escapes?" the half-orc asks the grey man. "I have seen enough duplicity in those who lead our country not to take the legends of Brandebar at face value." Mind: I've never counted the numbers coming in to know if the same amount ended in the gallows and the pyre."
The half-orc watches as the devil-blooded is led from the cell. In particular he is noting which key went to the shackles, and which to the cel and most importantly where both of those ended up.
After a moment, he thinks back on the response Xeram offered to his original question. He nods to the human. "Perhaps you don't know the tongue of my ancestors. He said 'when we are loose' not 'if'. I like the way of your thinking friend. Call me Gartrart. I think we SHOULD break out." The next he almost shouts to the guard. "Show them all what a scam these pious pretenders really are!" He nods to the white haired one and follows in a whisper hid under a half-real groan of pain. "What help I can offer is yours. Have you anything that might turn this lock?"
He shakes his head
"Best keep it down, if you do wish out, we don't want them to beat us senseless till the day we need to die, we still need to be able to think and talk till we have a plan."
Hearing Gertrart's yell, one of the guards bangs his club against the door making a loud racket, "Here now you lot, keep it down in there, or I'll have to come in and break some toes. You're to be alive to be put to death and all, but there's no law what says you got to have unbroken toes fer it!"
The charge of treason was just their way of emphasising the point, I think. Well, that and the beating..."
"What about yourself? Might I have a name?"
A civilized mind, i like that.
"I am Xeram, i come...from distant lands.These selfish zealots arrested me after i caused some moderate damage to one of their temples' altar, "sacred" book, the robes of a priest and sister, and several other objects of zero importance."
@ Gertrart aka Heraldic Cutter.
"Quite so, all here would like a piece of these guards for starters."
Xeram spits a quantity on his wrists, trying to lubricate them to slide out of his shackles. Afterwards, wether or not succesfull, he tries to look for weak spots in the shackles to exploit.
Alas, Xeram is unsuccessful.
He shakes his head more. Atleast they are trying to escape. Where he is, these chains wont break so easily.
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"Well, Xeram from distant lands, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Shame about the circumstances, but they are what they are. You, ratling... Skrivven, was it? Keep calm, and we can all get out of here - somehow. Just try not to attract the guards' attention, OK?"
This last sentence is delivered with a roguish wink that takes the sting out of any criticism.
Taeral shakes his head slowly as he listens to the amount of noise some of this cellmates make. While most seem to be keeping their composure, he thinks there may be a chance if they can work together to make it out of the prison, if the opportunity presents itself.
He continues to keep his arms up without depending on the chains and shackles, so as to keep his wrists from swelling with blood.
Mordecai stares the strange woman in silence for a moment. He is relieved, first of all, that he was not walking to his death. Also intrigued, by the attention of this gorgeous lady. It takes a while before the content of the woman's offer dawns to Mordecai, but once it does, a wide grin appears on his face. "Escape? I do like the sound of that. But, pray tell, dearest..." he says, mimicking the woman's style, "... how are we to leave this prison? Bound and unarmed, locked in a cell.. While the guards are simple morons, they'll have no trouble beating us down."
The devil-spawn takes the offered veil from Thiadora, feeling the gentle touch of the silk. He smells it, savouring the woman's scent. Finally looking at it, he cannot help but ask "Odd pattern for a lady's veil. Is this supposed to help us in our escape"
She has bent the guard to his will. I must learn to do this, also...
Thiadora looks amused, "our mutual friend has faith in your ingenuity."
Looking at the veil it is obviously more than it first seemed.
This appears to be a fine silk veil of gossamer cloth. Only as it is held and closely inspected can you see small cloth patches of various shapes. One patch can be detached each round as a move action. Detaching a patch causes it to become an actual item. This veil contains:
Note that the window patch will create a window (and therefore a hole) in a nearby wall. If there are no nearby walls, it simply turns into a common wooden window frame. It cannot be placed on a living creature however. Once removed, a patch cannot be replaced.
As for sense motive, she's clearly holding back much that she knows.
Her message delivered, she rises and the guards return. Immediately, her demeanor once more changes and she is again a perfect picture of grief. “No, I can’t bear to leave you!” She gives the PC a kiss on the cheek. The kiss is ice-cold and feels somehow alien and inhuman.
Tomas shakes his head. “I’m afraid it’s time, miss.”
She looks deep in Tomas’ eyes and says, “Thank you for letting me say good-bye. There’s no need to search my dearest. You are such a good friend for letting me see my dearest one more time.”
“Such a good friend,” Tomas repeats his voice almost mechanical. Then the watch sergeant seems to snap out of it and bows politely. “A pleasure, madam,” She leaves unveiled. Her eyes meet Mordecai’s one last time and she briefly gives him a wicked smile.
“Three days,” telepathically echoes in Mordecai’s mind. “Don’t disappoint me, dearest.” The visitation concluded, Mordecai is taken back to his cell by a cadre of guards and shackled once more.
Mordecai is returned to the cell by the guards and reshackled.
The lights are dimmed, and the door to the block is locked once more. The guards leave, although clearly two of them are stationed outside the door.
Mordecai is still holding Thiadora’s veil.
This appears to be a fine silk veil of gossamer cloth. Only as it is held and closely inspected can you see small cloth patches of various shapes. One patch can be detached each round as a move action. Detaching a patch causes it to become an actual item. This veil contains:
Note that the window patch will create a window (and therefore a hole) in a nearby wall. If there are no nearby walls, it simply turns into a common wooden window frame. It cannot be placed on a living creature however. Once removed, a patch cannot be replaced.
And there, hidden within the veil, a red amulet in shape of a pentagram, holy symbol of the Dark Prince. Mordecai's fingers trickle as he touches the amulet, great power surging from it. "File in a cake, then" the tiefling is almost laughing now.
Walking back to the cell, the tiefling suddenly stops as one thing dawns to him. Why is this "friend" helping me and my cellmates? For what reason he would go all this trouble. Doubt just to meet us and say hello? Which is a very good question, and makes the whole affair a bit suspicious. It just didn't occur to Mordecai until now, his head full of the promise of freedom.
Back in cell, Mordecai leans closer to the others, and whispers: "I have returned, bearing gifts and a way to freedom. An unknown benefactor is interested in meeting us, and our escape would suit his plans."
"Now, is anyone of you skilled in opening these locks?" he asks, conjuring the set of thieves' tools from the veil.
This news gave the dhampir a diffirent demeanour
"If one can get loose, get me out asap, so i can handle any guards that try to stop you"
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Gifts and freedom? How does this one want to accomplish that?
Ah.....remarkable, a pleasant surprise.
"Not with being shackled like this, all our hands aren't in the best position to move. You might wish to attempt it yourself at anybody here who is skilled in lock picking."
Vosil's eyes gleam. Ah, the Dark Prince's work, if I'm not mistaken...
Aloud, he says "Lockpicks? I think our rodent friend there might be our best bet - anyone who can get their nose to touch their ankle is likely to be fairly deft. And might I claim the spell component pouch, perchance? I'll leave the daggers to those skilled in such deeds, of which I am not one. But I think things are looking up, gentlemen." He smiles, and then winces again at the bruising on his face.