The Prison: Intrigue of the Empire

Game Master Tie My Shöelace

Domain Spells: 1st - detect aberration**, 2nd - stone call**, 3rd - deeper darkness, 4th - echolocation*, 5th - wall
Eschew Materials Cast spells without materials, if component cost is 1 gp or less.
Spontaneous Casting The Druid can convert stored spells into Summon Nature's Ally spells.
Tunnelrunner (Ex) Move through rubble and squeeze through narrow passages at normal speed.
Wild Empathy +2 (Ex) Improve the attitude of an animal, as if using Diplomacy.

I like the thought of executing dangerous criminals in The Prison. However why would they care? The only people that the Empire would care about exectuing down there (at least from my POV) are the ones with the potential to find an escape. Secondly, there won't be a stronghold of the Empire down there, though they very well may have hidden contacts to keep an eye on things down below. Which is how they know about these potential escapees.

I am assuming that the last part of your story is after you have been in The Prison? That is fine, however it hasn't occured yet. You will be starting out as a convict about to be thrown in. Perhaps you missed your second or third rendevous? Maybe expand upon your mission and what steps they want you to take.

I suggest you Expand upon what kind of deals your family made, and are you an elf or a tiefling? Elves rarely have noble families, how is yours different?

What is her take on the Empires tolerance acts? Does she want to support laws that promote equality, or does she see it as a cover to gain peoples trust and not actually doing anything? Or does she see it some otherway?

Since he doesn’t seem to play nice with others how do you think he will get along in a party of “criminals”?

How is your character going to play with others? So far it seems as though he is a quiet begrudging individual. How do you see that playing out underground with a party? Where do you see this character going at later levels?

The steel bracers work as your initial spellbook, under the conditions that they are somehow fused to you. Otherwise they would have been confiscated unless you were a level 1 prisoner, which you are not.

What are your thoughts on the ring and its significance within the prison?

I doubt age will come into factor but if it does I think aging 50% slower sounds reasonable.

This is the race you would use as the failed transformation. This is due to the Empire experimenting with the fundamentals of biology (similar to the shifter). Since some people have natural psionic abilities the Empire has been seeking them out for tests believing they could use that natural mind power to overcome the natural laws of the world. Basically mind over matter experiment. Since this expirementing is still rather new, true elans do not exist, and you are one of the first to actually survive the process, though a failure, to obtain immortaility.

You could be a failed test subject no long of use, Maybe you found out something you shouldn't. Perhaps you were angry/resentful of the testing and fought back.

"By empress did you mean the Sovereign?" Yes, I thought the empire was ruled by an empress. My mistake. I missed the sovereign thing.

"How is your character going to play with others? How do you see that playing out underground with a party?" He will play very well with others. There's a specific subsection addressing this issue in the CHARACTER section.

"So far it seems as though he is a quiet begrudging individual." Quiet, absolutely. Begrudging? Not at all. He is a very optimistic and happy individual. As long as he stays true to the Grandfather, he is ensured a return to paradise. No amount of torture or pain can prevent that.

"Where do you see this character going at later levels?" That depends. There's a specific subsection addressing this issue in the CHARACTER section. In brief, it depends if the Grandfather can authentically communicate with him in prison. If not, he continues his mandate of information gathering and survival as trained. And escape could be a priority for him to establish contact with the Grandfather.

Cheers

The last post does take part in the future. I can easily switch it to a 2nd or 3rd check in. Again, my interpretation was that the watch/militia/guard was on edge about this and would have condemned any flaw in the plan that would make them look weak to the public. If there isn't a stronghold I'll have him arranged to meet with an underground agent.

The quest starting with everyone entering the prison might be a problem. It's easy to fake me being convicted in front of everyone else to keep my cover as an agent for the empire. It is harder though because the story relies on Malachi entering the prison at least a few days (the empire wouldn't have let him go to prison and then decide to kill him in a day) ahead of Reflin. Malachi could go in early and I could go in the main group (though that assumes his survival for several days/weeks on a level 5 conviction) or I could go in after the main group (leaves me out for a few days). I'm fine with either, though it probably works a lot better to have Malachi as the main group and have Reflin enter days later. If you want do something like that, I could spin an omniscient 3rd person background scene for that too. Something like:

Commander- I can't believe we are going to let someone with as much inside information as Malachi go free.
other guard- we could kill him
Commander-No, we are committed to the prison system. Anything else would cause discontent in the streets.
other guard-Not if we spin it well. "The deadliest of the criminals are executed in the prison to... to protect you from possible escape."
Commander- That's a very good idea. We could even make it democratic, have the people vote . The commander slaps the other guard on the back. Tresk, you are now promoted to Sergeant. Let's get on this.

Let me know what you think and I can move forward with the background fixes.

As for the anectdote, I'm trying to find a line between pandering to the GM and creating a character. I think I did a correct job of it with the "fight" with the guard, but those were for skills/traits he has (he acted first: INIT, he disarmed, grappled, pinned, the man:agile manuevers and flurry of manuevers. Is this the kind of "anectdote: you're looking for with skills that aren't on his sheet. Like he once backflipped a guy to take out his knees and pin him (acrobatics)?

As for the ring, I was thinking it might have some kind of information about what created the prison or a group of beings who used to live there, though I am open to any ideas you might have about it.

Some scenes I would like to see:
Reuniting with some of his guildmates who came through before or after.
Dealing with the consequences of the saboteur who was sent after the Sapper members.
Discovering how Erol's father acquired the ring.

Is there anything else you would like me to add to my character before we start working on the crunch part?

I'll post an anecdote tomorrow.

My sister was killed when I was eight. She was four. It took me seven years, the day before I turned sixteen, to kill her killer in return. That's when I first noticed how broken I was. I had always been protective, particularly of my family. But now it was different. How can you be protective of someone who's dead? You can't. But you can avenge them. And that's exactly what I did. And honestly? It felt fantastic. All that discipline, all that focus, all that patience, and it finally paid off in that one instant of rage and blood. He was dead. I had done my job. I could live again.

I joined the guard the next day.

For the next six years I avoided passion and attachment at all costs. I upheld the law, followed orders without complaint, held no bias or grudge. I was an exemplar of everything a guardsman should be. I did that because I knew, without a doubt, that if someone I cared about was wronged like that again, then I would fall again. I would seek vengeance above all else. I would lose all sense of morality, duty, decency, and I would drown evil in it's own blood, and in doing so become evil myself.

The problem is, rage can burn hot, melt through any amount of fear. Passion is insidious, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't just not care.

Three days a week I patrolled through the Wood Court district. Three days a week I walked my route. After five years I knew just about every person in the area, by face and voice, if not always by name. But one man I did know by name. Anthony Bardettia. He ran a shelter, for anyone who needed it. Mostly orphans, but over the years he'd taken care of everything from stray dogs and cats, to runaway brides, to ostracized members of the lesser races. I liked him. He was like me. Protective. But without the violence and rage. He was a good man.

That day though, I saw that his shelter was empty. Every window broken. The doors off their hinges. Abandoned. Concerned, I investigated. Officially, the report was that he was harboring criminals that had managed to escape from confinement before they were shipped to the Prison. I knew this was false. Knew it.

It took almost two months of late nights and quiet probings before I found out what really happened. Nobody wanted to talk about it. People would lie, run and hide, break into tears, but it's hard to hide something from me. Still not sure whether I should be proud of that or not. Doesn't matter anymore I guess.

It was Count Christopher de Frans. Head of his House, and childhood friends with the Prince of the Empire himself. He had a mistress. Well, several actually, but this one was somewhat less willing than the rest. A half-elven woman that the Count had seen in passing and taken a liking to. And so he had taken her from her home, brought her to live in his mansion. She somehow managed to escape, and sought refuge with Anthony. But of course the Count found her out. It took a few words in the right ears, and Anthony was brought to trial for for a level three conviction. Hiding a felon. Twenty one-counts of it. In light of the “severe disregard for the public safety, and blatant disrespect towards the Empire and it's servants of justice”, his sentencing was unanimously voted to be escalated to a level five conviction. And that was that. All it took. One of the best men I had ever known, given the equivalent of a death sentence, for nothing more than helping a woman escape her kidnapper.

Even then I resisted the urge to fall back into vengeance. I held out, hoping for an explanation. When that didn't come, I held out, hoping for justice. I spoke with other members of the guard, with my friends. Nothing. Everyone had known since long ago something I was just then realizing. There was no justice. There was only power.

They arrested me for treason, for inciting the public against it's rightful rulers, for slander against multiple members of the nobility, and the list went on. On my trial, I saw people I knew, people I had helped, people I had worked with, and they all turned their eyes away. The closest that any came to aiding me was simple refusing to testify against me. That was the fear the Empire spread. The fear that held good men accountable for deeds not their own. The fear that ground spirits and lives into dust. I'd never been a religious man, preferring the tangible clarity of written laws to the inexplicable emotions of divine entities, but at that point I prayed. In the middle of the trial, I closed my eyes and knelt, and raising manacled hands to the sky I asked for power. To not let my rage blind me nor bind me, but that it would be a tool for justice. That the plots and maneuvers of evil men would not be hidden, and that the law would not be perverted.

Ragathiel answered me, set my soul on fire, burned my weakness away.

I remember laughing and laughing, crying and gasping with it. They asked me why.

“There is no pit of despair wide enough or deep enough to swallow my rage. There are no walls tall or thick enough to protect you from my wrath. There is no time long enough, no distance far enough, that you will ever be able to escape me. This is my vow, that vengeance will be done, since justice has not.”

Good men should not be punished for their goodness. I am broken, twisted and warped. But I can do this. I can make the world a better place for those good men, that they might fill the world with light, and wash away the blood that I will spill.

The Empire will fall, and then, my vengeance complete, I will die.

Peace, at last.

Fleeing
throwing fruit
creating a obscuring mist in the market
Filling the area with rumbles of thunder
and attacking an agent with a knife

Although I think there's something you're not considering, I had never meant that the empire would be in control underground, more that the prisoners would set themselves up some kind of government to keep all the murderer's cut-throats and misanthropes from ruining things for the basicly innocent types just trying to get by. Probably in something of a city state style, each settlement running itself, with the one by the drop off sort of being in charge by directing the flow of new arrivals.
but in the end it's entirely up to the GM, so this debate is fairly pointless.

She grew up in a normal family, mom, dad, 3 brothers. Little house, not rich, obeyed the laws, did normal things. Her dad, Yamato Tsune, worked as a musician, her mom, Chidori Tsune, was a dancer, the two often entertained people with their skills and lively music. That’s how they earned money for their home. That’s how the world and their neighbours saw them. Behind closed doors, it was a bit different from that. They were a kitsune family, a family of arctic kitsune. Magic, tricks, jokes, laughter filled the house often. Sire and dame often laughed with their kits as they played. Tenge, the oldest, Kume middle boy and Sato the youngest boy. Then, finally, the runt of the litter, or so her brothers called her, little Yuki. Often teased and pranked. Her siblings protected her when she was still a very young kit, never let anyone hurt her or teased her. At home, well, they were brothers. “No one teases our little sister but us” And they were right. One thing that her sire and dame were very proud of, she was a fast learner, a fast shifter. She could turn to her human form more quickly than any in their family, which was a blessing in itself.

Being often teased and pranked by her older siblings, she learned to adapt quickly. Not being as strong as them, and much smaller, she began to become more agile. She quickly escaped their grasp. Out smarted them with pranks, often having them trip in their own traps before they realised what she was doing. Such was the life of kitsune.

As the years past, her brothers got out more often, starting their own occupations, meeting more of their own kind, finding mates. Tenge became a bard, like their sire. Kume started a comedy act, juggling and other tricks, young Sato went on to become a painter. Paintings and murals. Which left Yuki alone at home. So, she studied. But not from books. She studied her abilities. Dancing, singing, acting. Doing all kinds of jumps and twirls, balancing on ropes, jumping from one empty crate to another. She wanted to become an actor, and actors need to be able to do all kinds of things on stage.

Her sire and dame helped her, both departing their own knowledge of the stage to her. Correcting her where needed, how to dance correctly, how to vocalise your voice so that everyone could hear you. It was tough for her, being the only one left in the house, but she forced herself to listen, to concentrate. Till finally, what felt like years, she was old enough to go out into the human world. To experience life among the humans, explore, see the world through the human eyes she often adapted. And they were many, since now, through her practise, she had managed to alter her human form to look like anyone she had met. This, she told herself, she would use to bring laughter and happiness to those who really needed it.

So, she started to go to shows and other performances. She even now and then went to see her brothers work. They told her and showed her how to manage and run her own show, till one day, she managed to put her own show together. She would tell stories, but she would play and act out all the rolls of her characters. The trick to her show was that the characters, every time she would use the faces and people in the crowd.

Old people would face down armies and defeat them, all for those they loved. Young lovers would find each other through storms and pain. Little children would face monsters and bad people and they would win. Each story designed to bring hope and love to those she felt needed it.

So it continued, often she would get many cheers, sounds of approval. Her stories would strike nerves, people would cry, but then the joy at the end of the story would turn the tears to laughter, or smiles that said “thank you”

All this came to a very sudden end, when at one show, she made a comedy. About a very fat man, a timid boy and a very beautiful lady. Everything went well according to what she could tell from the crowd, till the fat man was finally ridiculed by the timid boy. In a very degrading manor, which involved pie, cream, and a wayward banana.
She found herself in chains and being hauled off toward where she would be trialed. It seemed that the person she used as the fat man, was actually a Empire official on a short business trip. He used the story as an excuse to have her captured and tried for slander.

So here she was, in a wagon, on her way to her new stage. It was very exciting…

Family and friends

Dame: Chidori Tsune (Dancer)

Sire: Yamato (Bard)

Siblings: Tenge (Bard), Kume(Jester), Sato (Artist)

I'd like to believe it's more of a neutral area. That isn't to say that different groups won't have representatives and recruiters there to pick people out. That's pretty much what Trusk is supposed to do. I just don't think that it would really be under the control of a single group. Maybe there would be some sort of gentleman's agreement between the groups at the entrance? Sort of like "You get all the new guys this week, we get the new guys next week, they get the new guys the week after that, etc."

And sure, the debate may be pointless, but it's still nice to get into the heads of other prospective players and see how they're wanting/hoping/expecting things in the game to go.

I would also vote against the warzone idea since the underground is dangerous enough as it is and new bodies are likely to be something of a hot commodity, you wouldn't want, or be able, to just constantly send wave after wave of your own men to their deaths just to get new men. or women...

Also I like to roll for my players fairly often when it comes to passive rolls. It helps keep the immersion and speed present rather than stopping he story to ask for a roll then waiting for me to get back to you. Typical rolls are perception, knowledge, sense motive, appraise and spell craft. I also will roll active checks if you did not and I think it is necessary for whatever task you were doing. Do any of you have a problem with that?

Can you give me a writing sample of entering a city/town. Or you can continue on from here and make up whatever you want.

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Passing through the rotting gates of the small town, the Human guard sneers at you with an upturned nose, obviously showing arrogance. He has a broadsword belted to his waist, one hand resting atop the worn hilt, waiting for one wrong move. The Half-orc on the other side of the gate keeps a straight face, his lower canines protruding up from his lip almost up to his nose, hair tied back in a ponytail. He holds no weapon that you can see, but his long dark cloak could hide something from your eye.

Immediately inside the gate, a small building with a cloth for a door sits on the right side, the building obviously in need of repairs from the sagging roof and missing door, the hinges holding a small sliver of wood. Across, to the left, is a small alleyway, horse dung fills the air. Peering down the alleyway you can see a wooden fence and hear a horse eating some grain. Much closer however, sits the stable, a hole in the one of the pens shows this place to be in even worse repair than the shack on the right.

Deeper into the town, a few lights from windows give just enough illumination to navigate the rocky road without stumbling. Just at the edge of your vision you see a hanging sign, this building gives off slightly more light than the surrounding ones, but you still quite cannot make out what is depicted on the sign.

Also I like to roll for my players fairly often when it comes to passive rolls. It helps keep the immersion and speed present rather than stopping he story to ask for a roll then waiting for me to get back to you. Typical rolls are perception, knowledge, sense motive, appraise and spell craft. I also will roll active checks if you did not and I think it is necessary for whatever it is you are doing. Do you have a problem with that?

Also , I assume whatever reason caused you to drop all your previous PbPs a year ago is no longer an issue. Correct?

I will certainly be doing my best to get into character and post as many details as I can while I am posting.

As for you making rolls for my character I have no problem with that, and agree that it helps with immersion and pacing.

I can always improve my posting.

Did you like the part of the tranquil grove seeking a way to the surface?
Was I too specific in the background that I wrote?
Feedback is always welcome!

The guard looks at Trusk's hand, snorts his disapproval, and remains silent.

Not very friendly, that one...
Having been rebuffed, Trusk lowers his arm and approaches the half-orc in the same manner.
"Brother, perhaps you could help me. Your friend was less than polite."

The half-orc guard stares at Trusk for a moment, sizing him up, before slapping away his hand and responding rather sharply.
"I'm not your brother. And don't expect sympathy over that false limp of yours. I can tell from your build that you're not near as weak as you try to pass as."

He's got a sharp eye. I'll bet he's got some real training too. At the very least he's got experience. The quick pity trick isn't going to work on him I don't think.
Somewhat pleadingly, Trusk replies "You should be able to see for yourself that my foot is mangled beyond fixing. It's hard to fake an injury like that. Though I suppose it is true that I don't always rely so much on my staff. It's a side effect of the exhaustion. After more than a few hours walking the pain can be excruciating."

The half-orc glares at Trusk. "I don't like liars, but I also don't doubt you're tired. It's a long walk from here to the next settlement. We have no inn, but the tavern is that building over there." the guard says, pointing down the street at the building with the sign. "There's a few benches, but no beds. And the barman doesn't like customers who can't pay. If you're a good tipper he might let you sleep on the floor. Otherwise, you're sleeping outside."

That worked better than I thought it would.
"Well, we haven't got much money, but perhaps we'd be able to work out a deal with the barman. This town looks like it could use some help with repairs, and a few of us are quite handy. Thank you for the information, Brother. May the caves provide for you."
Trusk once more offers his hand, holding it in the air for a few moments and being rejected again, before walking back to the group. Making sure to maintain his charade, he continues to use his staff as a crutch and drag his foot behind him. As he walks, he looks at his hand. After looking it over a few times, he raises it up and gives it a quick sniff.
Why is it that everyone seems so unwilling to shake my hand? It's no dirtier than anything else around here...

They carried on through the gate with only a short pause for the guards to chat while the prisoner carriage was checked over, the half-orc staying adamant at his post while the humans conversed on the general new and tossed casual insults at the prisoners. Most of the prisoners rode inside the carriage, stewing over their crimes, lamenting their pasts and fearing their futures, but Phrr was made to walk, hobbled and stumbling all the way. Never had he been more glad for his fur on those long cold nights, sometimes continuing on well into darkness, only a feeble loincloth holding at bay the cold, they had thought it would be a punishment, help to loosen his tongue and convince him to spill what he knew, but honestly he was enjoying this last chance to walk free under the open sky, to see the trees rising around him and feel the fresh breeze on his face. He knew he would likely never enjoy anything of the sort again.

As they passed by the inn Phrr looked up at the hanging sign, trying to see the device emblazoned there, but the swinging started by the low breeze and the brightness from within created dancing shadows that obscured the specifics from view. Before long he stopped trying, what was the use, he wouldn't pass by again, it was just one more night in the lockup here and then on to the gateway tomorrow, where his life was fated to end...

Immediately inside the gate, a small building with a cloth for a door sits on the right side, the building obviously in need of repairs from the sagging roof and missing door, the hinges holding a small sliver of wood. Across, to the left, is a small alleyway, horse dung fills the air. Peering down the alleyway you can see a wooden fence and hear a horse eating some grain. Much closer however, sits the stable, a hole in the one of the pens shows this place to be in even worse repair than the shack on the right.

Deeper into the town, a few lights from windows give just enough illumination to navigate the rocky road without stumbling. Just at the edge of your vision you see a hanging sign, this building gives off slightly more light than the surrounding ones, but you still quite cannot make out what is depicted on the sign.

Is this how our nation is? he thought to himself, straining his eyes to pick details from the town like a starving crow would pick at a long dead body. Lights in windows flickered as children peered out, and were dragged away by their parents, either unwilling to be seen taking an interest or just embedding into their children the sense of apathy the place reeked of.

With a nod of his head and a raised eyebrow, Riley caught Jayne's attention. Inquisitiveness was rarely encouraged, but they could hardly make his life worse. He jutted his jaw towards the brighter building, and the unreadable sign.

Jayne snorted, and called the cart to a halt. "The local magistrate is there. As you can see, he shines brightest by our will."

"The empire's will should spare more tallow." Riley replied absently.

There was a loud thump and a soft whimper as Jayne casually drove his boot into Riley's stomach. "You were doing so well too. Teach you to ruin my metal-forks." With a snap of his fingers the cart pulled forward once more, each bump sending shards of pain through Riley's body. "Cheer up, boy. Not far to your fine bed now."

Somehow Riley doubted his bed would something he'd enjoy.

The miners began the process of checking for gas, as they did every day, and by the time they had finished the lights Erol had created had begun to flicker out. They replaced them with torches and lanterns, now that they knew it was safe, and set to work.

They mined for hours, cutting through the stone in order to enlarge the tunnel and travel ever onward in their search for the gems and metals that the Vaegerhos supplied to the Empire. As the day wore on and the air began to grow hot and stuffy Erol conjured a light breeze to blow cool air into the tunnel, helping the miners to breathe a little easier.

When lunch break was called the dwarves sat wherever they were and began to enjoy the food they had packed. Once the eating was finished the miners relaxed for a few moments, enjoying the chance to rest their strained muscles. While they talked or stretched Erol retrieved his latest project from the small bag hanging from his belt, examining it and trying to decide what the next improvement would be. When the bell for the end of their break rang he was still deep in thought, but he managed to shake himself awake and returned to his work.

Hours more passed with no discovery that would make their efforts seem worthwhile, but finally one of the dwarves gave out a shout that he had found something. The miners clustered around to see that he had found a small vein of silver running through the rock. The dwarves knew that care would have to be taken in order to extract all of the silver, but the day was reaching its end and they wished to do it quickly. Erol placed magical guidance on each dwarf, helping them in the upcoming task, and he then enchanted the picks of the two most skilled miners, allowing them to cut through the rock more easily.

By the time the final bell rang and the dwarves made their way back to the shaft they each carried sacks of silver ore, ready to be refined and crafted.