Just putting this up in advance.
Dotting
In a dark room, about ten by ten feet around, each of you stand, wearing dusty prison rags. The black-stone walls and floor are cold and rough, and a door of iron bars brings in little light. A black-and-red clad guard slides a piece of stale bread between the bars and it falls, hitting the dusty floor. A small wooden mug is passed through similarly, and brown water spreads over the stony floor. He grunts in your direction and turns away.
The guards arrested Geoffrey after dealing with the highwaymen. He was tied up with them and delivered to the authorities of the next town the caravan came across. Though the guards turned out to be more than capable Geoffrey couldn't help but take action. It was right to stop the bandits. The first two went down with arrows in their backs, unaware of their impending death. The third one though saw him. Possibly a very intelligent fellow and even the leader of the gang. They were taken off guard by his arrival and this was indeed the reason (unknown to all) the bandit gang failed. The bandit leader seeing Geoffrey's bow trained on him. Waiting an instant longer for Geoffrey to commit to the shot, he pulled the guard he had previously dazed in front of it. It was enough though to snap the guard out of his daze and in a last lucky attempt he killed the bandit, twisting around and running him through. Without their leaders direction the bandits were defeated and fled. Half a dozen being captured with Geoffrey. The ones that escaped saw Geoffrey and knew he was the cause of their leaders death.
He was sentenced to several years prison for assaulting a guard and told he avoided death because it was his first offense and the guard he shot had put in a good word for him. The only guard who did. They threw him in a small cell with several others. More came, some went and some never returned. He didn't talk too much and tried to follow his training exercises when possible. The cramped cell made things difficult though.
He had thought of escape but it seemed hopeless. He had nothing. Perhaps two years wouldn't be so long... But where would Cassendra be in two years? He couldn't let her disappear. He had been here several months now. The clue he had of her whereabouts likely useless.
Making sure the guards are not in sight, Ventus mutters tergeo panem, pointing his finger at the bread. The dust on it disappears That's better. Though I probably just cleaned off the most nutritious part of it. He sighs, takes his bite and passes it on
Looking at his finger and the mug, he points at it and mutters tergeo aquam without any real hope of it removing the impurities from the water. Either way, he takes a swig and passes it on. Cheers, my friends. What are you all in for?
He is surprised when he notices one of the other prisoners do something to make the bread and water cleaner. Why did he not notice before? Perhaps he should pay more attention to his surroundings and fellow prisoners than thinking about his own problems. how did a wizards end up here in this filthy place? He thought a wizard would be kept somewhere more secure. a pretend wizard then who can only do a few tricks? He is not sure but intends to find out.
"Where did you learn to do that?"
Beorn looks like he belongs here. Smelling of stale beer, urine, and vomit, his cloths are muddy, his eyes are bloodshot, he is unshaven, and in general looks like he'd been on the receiving end of a stampede. He has not been the best company over the last day or two, but as the hangover faded he at least seemed less likely to strike out at someone bumping into him in these tight quarters.
At first all he could manage was muttering, but as time passed and memory returned he began to halfway remember things. He asks strange questions about members of an Ulfen crew that no one has heard of and its evident he has lost at least two days based on his questions. As his disposition changed with sobriety and memory he withdrew into himself and seemed almost meek for a time.
His first attempt at eating did not go well and he vomited again in a corner. He held down his second meal and began to ask for water. After that he at least moved to the the waste bucket to relieve himself. When Ventus cleans the bread with magic he watches with interest. This time when bread was passed to him he manages a Thank you. before ripping a bite and passing it along.
When the meal is consumed he moves to the wizard and indicates his clothing, smeared with mud and other filth and ask If you can make it so, I would be clean. His voice is low and without any threat, but not begging.
Although Ventus seems accustomed to life in bars, he is new to this particular cell, having been given a move for 'good behavior'--apparently this cell is a step up from his previous one.
Geoffrey, was it? That is a long and exciting tale, but for now suffice it to say, I am a wizard.
Ventus recoils a bit from Beorn's stench. I can see that you need it, friend. I should tell you, if you'll notice the state of my rags he indicates the filthy, torn clothes clinging to his body. I do not want the guards to know I am a mage. Cleanliness is the mark of a mage as much as godliness the mark of a cleric, and both a risky thing to have unless you serve the Archfiend. I'd be bound and gagged if they knew my power. When they caught me, I had not used magic, and they found my holy symbol of Nethys. I did not correct them when they decided I was a poor lay priest of Nethys sneaking around the mayor's manor to steal some trinkets for my flock. Ventus pauses, as though deciding whether or not to say more, but apparently decides not to for now.
I'll clean you up to get rid of the worst of it, but I've got to dirty you up a bit afterwards. Just so the guards don't get suspicious.
Ventus points a finger at Beorn, and says tergeo hominem and moves it slowly up and down his form, the caked dirt, stale beer and worse disappearing into thin air. Once satisfied that Beorn is clean, he then says immundify and repeats his movements, Beorn acquiring a more superficial layer of dust which smell if not neutral, at least far better than he did before.
Harzhen is perhaps the strangest looking occupant of the cell. He wear little more than a filthy loincloth, which makes it easy to see that his skin is mostly jet black, mottled with a deep scarlet in some places. With his lengthy, sinuous tail, lean and muscled feline physique, cat-like ears and brilliant green eyes, he appears to be a strange hairless catman. Obviously recently beaten, he has huddled in the corner, apparently taking not much noticed of anyone else. As the bread is being passed around he growls softly, and waits patiently to be offered a morsel, whereupon he gives a small nod of thanks and murmurs, "Thank you, stranger."
At first glance this woman appears to be human, then you notice the dark red color of her small slitted eyes, the slight points to her ears, and the brownish green mottle of her skin. Standing about five feet ten inches tall, the goblinoid is well muscled and graceful. Her coarse, curly black hair is knotted up in a small tower on top of her head and she has two horizontal black stripes tattooed across her face to keep the sun from glaring in her eyes. She has stood stone-still and silent, eyes downcast, next to the blonde, noble-looking human young man since they were thrown into the cell together. She only moves to occasionally stretch her hard-muscled body in a practiced manner, and to relieve herself in the waste bucket.
Whenever her eyes fall on Cillian, she looks away immediately in shame, studying the floor. When will the young master ask me to take my own life? I am tempted to do it without his permission, such shame is intolerable. I could break a guard's neck easily and then we'd be free from this place. But he knows that. When the time is right he will command me. Until then I must wait in my shame. Wait in a purgatory of my own making, my own failure.
When the bread comes around, she looks down at it but makes no effort to take any or to say anything. She simply waits for the next person in line to take the stale morsel.
A fat guard comes out of the darkness and up to the barred door. He has long, dirty brown hair and an unkempt beard. His eyes glisten and shine in the dark.
"Strange one. In the corner. Get out here."
He roughy drives an iron key into the lock and cracks open the barred door.
Although Ventus seems accustomed to life in bars, he is new to this particular cell, having been given a move for 'good behavior'--apparently this cell is a step up from his previous one.
Geoffrey, was it? That is a long and exciting tale, but for now suffice it to say, I am a wizard.
Ventus recoils a bit from Beorn's stench. I can see that you need it, friend. I should tell you, if you'll notice the state of my rags he indicates the filthy, torn clothes clinging to his body. I do not want the guards to know I am a mage. Cleanliness is the mark of a mage as much as godliness the mark of a cleric, and both a risky thing to have unless you serve the Archfiend. I'd be bound and gagged if they knew my power. When they caught me, I had not used magic, and they found my holy symbol of Nethys. I did not correct them when they decided I was a poor lay priest of Nethys sneaking around the mayor's manor to steal some trinkets for my flock. Ventus pauses, as though deciding whether or not to say more, but apparently decides not to for now.
I'll clean you up to get rid of the worst of it, but I've got to dirty you up a bit afterwards. Just so the guards don't get suspicious.
Ventus points a finger at Beorn, and says tergeo hominem and moves it slowly up and down his form, the caked dirt, stale beer and worse disappearing into thin air. Once satisfied that Beorn is clean, he then says immundify and repeats his movements, Beorn acquiring a more superficial layer of dust which smell if not neutral, at least far better than he did before.
The large barbarian regards himself, sniffs his garment deeply, and then smiles for the first time in at least three days. My gratitude. He says and has a seat near the wizard.
He roughy drives an iron key into the lock and cracks open the barred door.
We are all a bit strange turnkey. Which one of us you want, and for what? Beorn ask rising to his feet. Someone getting released?
The wild figure raises his head, green eyes flashing in the darkness. As the jailer inserts the key he rises to his feet sinuously.
More abuse? I won't walk that way willingly again.
A low growl starts in the onyx man's throat.
Lure him in, or charge straight through the door at him?
Harzhen takes one step forward, then casts his glance sideways, towards the wizard, an eyebrow cocked slightly.
As he nears the cell door, Harzhen suddenly launches at the guard, his form a blur.
The guard looks up, surprised. Quickly and harshly, Harhzen's fist connects with the guard's vulnerable neck. The guard chokes and lands on the ground with a soft bump. He seems unconscious.
The guard looks up, surprised. Quickly and harshly, Harhzen's fist connects with the guard's vulnerable neck. The guard chokes and lands on the ground with a soft bump. He seems unconscious.
Harzhen drops into a kneeling position beside the prone guard, checking his condition, then checking out what useful items he may be able to swiftly grab. He turns briefly to the others. "I'm getting out of this hellhole. Now." He waits on responses from the other prisoners.
Guess the devil-blooded has made our choice for us. Grafelda nods to him, then turns to Cillian and lightly touching his elbow asks "My lord? Shall we?" While she waits for his answer, she turns to the wizard. "Mage, can you cast a spell of disguise? One of us should take the guard's form if possible, and wear his clothes. That person can go first and catch the other guards by surprise."
The name's Ventus, and no, I'm sorry. I prepared spells only to equip myself for a fight, and have no spells in my book for a disguise. Ventus sighs. Had we taken time to make a plan and waited at least until morning, I could have prepared proper spells for a more shifty approach.
Ventus paces as his brain whirs. By the All-Seeing Eye, how are we going to do this? No, at this point we cannot hope to catch the other guards by surprise in a fight. There are too many. If we fight, we will be defeated by sheer numbers alone. The best we can do is lock this soul in the cell--I'll dirty him up so he looks like he belongs here. Then we put our heads down and follow our best liar in the guard's outfit, and get as close to the exit as possible before we are inevitably discovered. With any luck, we'll be close enough to make a push through.
As soon as the guard has been relieved of his uniform, Ventus begins using prestidigitation to soil this man so he looks as dirty as Beorn had. He will also use prestidigitation to properly clean whoever we put in the guard's uniform.
Harzhen has no pockets to put the coins in, and so carelessly proffers them to whoever is nearest. The Chelaxian emblem holds his interest more.
"This could be handy," he murmurs, turning it over thoughtfully in his hand. He then peers both ways down the corridor, looking and listening for signs of movement.
Watching the others now he notices some of them seem to be more alert than the rest. The dark one seems the strangest of all the prisoners. Though a wizard being in here was perhaps just as strange to him. He took his bite of the bread and mouthful of water while thinking and watching the wizard work on cleaning up the barbarian.
When the guard came alone he watched, wondering if yet another prisoners time was up.
if only there weren't a dozen guards out there, I could escape this injustice. When the dark one caught the guard by surprise Geoffrey stood up instantly surprised. "Are you crazy!? They will kill us all for this." he whispers. The guards would take revenge he was sure. There was no other option. They would notice when he didnt return and come to investigate. The plan was a crazy one but they would have to risk it.
"We need to try and sneak out of here, avoid fights. Work together or we will get picked off 1 by 1 and die. I don't know any of you or your true crimes. But this is not a prison for high ranking offenders so for today at least. I am your friend. Till we survive this place."
Harzhen has no pockets to put the coins in, and so carelessly proffers them to whoever is nearest. The Chelaxian emblem holds his interest more.
"This could be handy," he murmurs, turning it over thoughtfully in his hand. He then peers both ways down the corridor, looking and listening for signs of movement.
Beorn, still sitting, looks indecisive. Hey, all I did was go on a little binge. Maybe some property damage and punched a few people in a bar room brawl. Assault charge tops. I'm sure they will let me out in a few days, right? But this is serious stuff. He indicates the down guard. They hang you for stuff like this... [/b]
The quiet one in the back stood. "They'll kill us anyway. Who do you know that's ever gotten out of the Rack Bastille? This isn't a regular prison. This is where they put people they want to get rid of. The people no one cares enough about to wonder where they ended up."
Rolling his neck and bit and thinking to himself, he took a deep breath.
"Feel free to stick around though. Maybe that will ingratiate you."
Her survival instinct kicking in hard, Grafelda draws very close to Cillian's ear and whispers, "My lord, why are you acting as if we are already defeated? Perhaps it is not my place to ask such, but would your father not wish us to fight? Do you not wish to avenge him?"
"You never did catch on to sarcasm, did you 'Felda?" the quiet one said with a half smile.
"What I meant was, they will kill us if we stay. So we aren't staying. Let's go."
Stepping out of the cell, he looked to the man who'd downed the guard. "Nice work."
Harzhen nods briefly in acknowledgement, rising off hos haunches to regard the motley group with his glittering eyes, his vertical pupils mere slits in the green orbs. "We should move quickly. I can scout ahead, unless we'd all prefer to stick together..."
"Excellent." Grafelda says, moving out into the corridor. "I too am friend to the shadows, strange one. I will accompany you." The ninja says to the tiefling.
Harzhen nods briefly in acknowledgement, rising off hos haunches to regard the motley group with his glittering eyes, his vertical pupils mere slits in the green orbs. "We should move quickly. I can scout ahead, unless we'd all prefer to stick together..."
"We should move quickly. I will be slowed down too much in his armour. Perhaps it will be easier to sneak out of here than pretend to be one of them. Unless someone has some skill in disguises."
Geoffrey exits the cell, glad to be out of that filthy hole not fit for a pig. He makes the gesture of brushing the filth off him. A figurative one, he would need a good bath to be properly sure since he was none too keen to have magic used on him. Geoffrey searches the guard and takes any keys he has on him including the iron key he used for their cell. Hoping they won't have to go through any locked doors to escape. He then stands up ready to go, waiting for the dark one.
"I'll follow you."
He glances back at the other prisoners and the guard now being 'dirtied up'. Seems a pointless exercise if he will be discovered soon anyway. But he says nothing and waits. A little impatient, he breathes in and out slowly, just as he was taught, to relax himself.
Breathe the moment out. Now breathe it in. The moment is yours only if you are aware of it. Focus. Breathe. Control yourself
I think the idea is to sneak out while pretending to be one of them. One of us is the 'guard' driving the rest of us prisoners to our next torture. We don't need disguises--I doubt that every guard can recognize every other guard by face, or every prisoner for that matter, especially if the 'guard's' face is clean. With luck, this man will be knocked out for quite awhile and when he wakes, they will assume he is just one of the many prisoners who scream their innocence every day. Ventus sighs. We can't hope for any plan to do more than buy us time, but hopefully it will be enough to get us out.
The quiet one in the back stood. "They'll kill us anyway. Who do you know that's ever gotten out of the Rack Bastille? This isn't a regular prison. This is where they put people they want to get rid of. The people no one cares enough about to wonder where they ended up."
Rolling his neck and bit and thinking to himself, he took a deep breath.
"Feel free to stick around though. Maybe that will ingratiate you."
You make too much sense, damn you. Its foolish for an Unfen to expect fairness in Cheliax. I am with you. I look to be about the size of that guard too. Someone help me with his armor. Beorn begins to take the armor off the man.
Then to the wizard he says I am your guard then.
"Don't assume the disguise will hold up. The guards probably know each other."
Starting to move down the hall, the yet-unnamed man glanced back to the others. "I memorized the layout of this place before they captured me, but my map was old. I think I can lead us out as long as they haven't remodeled too much."
"Can I wear the leathers? If anyone sees us they are bound to recognize the guard as a fake rather quickly whether they are wearing leather under their chain or not."
Harzhen nods at Grafelda and Geoffrey. "Ok then, but keep silent. There aren't many shadows for us to use." The feline tiefling sets off at a slow, cautious pace, allowing Grafelda the chance to join him at his side, lead the way, or follow a step behind as she wishes.