|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
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Take a break from saving the world. Take a break from restless farm boys and loveable scoundrels who unite to fight an ancient evil. Put on your best black hat and get ready to walk the Way of the Wicked. By the time we’re done, the world will tremble in your wake.
This is a placeholder so that you can dot this thread and have the campaign appear in your tracker.
Albina regards the confines of her cell with apprehension. It seemed fine sport to taunt the splotchy-faced magistrate before his court of sycophants and lickspittles, but the cold reality of her imprisonment, the angry ache of the brand upon her flawless skin, and the smell of caged flesh, human waste and rank despair, has dimmed the fire in her belly, and left her praying for salvation, or damnation, whichever will remove her from these walls...
Or, yanno, dot.
Albrecht hung limp in the manacles, his body a patchwork of bruises and cuts. Despite his incarceration, his noble bearing refused to be broken by the common guards who were his jailors.
"I'll kill you, Blackerly," he muttered under his breath, swearing vengeance on the Sergeant who had branded Albrecht with the mark of the Forsaken. By the look of his cellmates, this wasn't a punishment limited to himself.
"It appears that we are to be company for one another in our final days," Albrecht's tone was cynical, as though he didn't believe that Branderscar could hold him, although everything he knew about the fortress indicated that it was to be his last home. He'd be damned if he'd give Blackerly the satisfaction though.
"I am Albrecht d'Famion, chosen of Asmodeus and noble of Talingarde," Albrecht mustered as much poise as a man manacled by wrist and ankle can.
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
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 Iomedae and his chosen mortal vassals.
You have all been chained together in the same communal cell dressed in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. Manhandled, beaten 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?
You are imprisoned within a room sixty feet by thirty feet. The walls are solid, though the entry is barred by a sturdy locked gate made of thick iron bars. There are four humanoids and a devil interred with you. The five of you arrived to Branderscar separately over the course of the day - which has now passed to late afternoon.
Although you have had time to spend looking over your fellow prisoners, this is the first time that the guards have moved distant enough for you to chancing the spoken word.
Pick a single item of ceremonial dress that would hold sentimental value (a sign of how high you'd risen) and let me know what it is in a spoiler please :)
For your first IC post, please include a visual description of yourself.
Feel free to let me know if I'm taking too many liberties with things from here on out, or just plain mucking something up (perticularly things of a devilish nature. This is my first Play by Post, so any ongoing feedback and suggestions are appreciated.
Mi'Dre crouched in the cell, head bowed again the near constant pain; each motion bringing the memories of the lingering beating and torture from which he had so recently escaped into sharp memory. Given his state one less knowledgeable in the ranks of hell might think he was some shrunken Hamatula, with the number of splinters and shards that stuck from his flesh, both those placed with a cruel artistry and left behind by the guard's planks. His normally green-blue skin was mottled with dark purple and black bruises, and stained by dark blood from numerous gashes. On his back lay the ruined remains of his wings, one nearly torn completely from his back, while the other three were cracked and twisted, mutilated beyond any hope of simple healing magic.
Still the devil remained unbroken, but brooding over over his fate. Though the pain wracked his body now he was a Devil, and Hell was not a kind master, he had suffered many times and he would recover, if only he could survive. His mind played once again over the trial, mercifully brief for the bound devil, as he'd impassively watched all those self-righteous holy men bear testimony to his crimes. The verdict was obvious and he was brought here, to this 'Brandescar' where the worse of his torments had begun. He'd laughed at first as the uneducated fools had tried to brand him, but then the man there, he had ordered acid be brought and tried-it seemed he was not the first prisoner to resist the burning irons. The beatings had followed while the ragged F was still raw, and though they hurt it was his wings he most lamented, already damaged by the Iomedaen's arrow, they would not easily recover and he was a being of the air, not one to grub along the ground...
A voice, one of the humans who shared the cell with him interrupted his dark thoughts. Yes, Blackerly... that had been the one; the man who called for the acid, and who applied his splinters of wood with such painful skill and obvious enjoyment.
His neck screamed in agony as Mi'Dre raised his head, settling his gaze on Albrecht. In a voice grown raw from shrieks and curses, high pitched and cracking from the pain as he articulating the words of the infernal tongue, the devil responded. "We will see who kills that man, should the opportunity present itself." The devil shifted slightly under his heavy chains, ignoring the cries of his wounds as he poked a claw into the lock, his attention shifting between the distant guard and his work.
Disable Device to try and pick his cuffs:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
Knowledge (planes): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22
Albrecht cast his eye over the devil who shared a cell with them. A Gaav, eh? I wonder what he's doing up here?
"I dare say that all of us have cause, gaav," Albrecht replied. He watched as the gaav futilely clawed at the lock. Shaking his head, he turned back to look at the others.
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
Knowledge - religion 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
No amount of stolen strength or vitality matters, so long as she is chained to a wall in a reeking dungeon, body aching from the inquisitor's ministrations.
A lifetime spent attended by servants, and holding the weak-minded and soft-hearted buffoons of the local clergy in contempt for their naivette and high-minded idealism, did not prepare her for how brutal they could be, to one they regarded as abomination and heretic.
The devil that hung beside them fascinated her. How could they capture such? Was his bruised and battered flesh truly immortal? Were devils truly elemental manifestations of evil? Would currying the favor of an actual devil prove beneficial if all found themselves in their infernal afterlife, in the coming hours or days?
Better safe than sorry...
In Infernal, she says in a low voice, "Surely Asmodeus has some greater plan for your wrath, than to allow you to fall here, fiendish lord."
Diplomacy to suck up, but since Mi'Dre is a PC, to no avail. :)
1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23 Know Planes
When the ritual was done there was only laughter, flames, and soon the taste of blood.
Everything beyond that was a daze. Falling through flames, awakening to find himself before a crowd of people, a judge clad in full Iomedean regalia glowering down on him. The accusations of the court would fill his ears. Words of bitter hatred would worm their way through the haze of delirium to shock a Shndalyn still attempting to graps all that was happening.
There was pain, spats of hunger, thirst, and all of these were answered with the same survival instincts every living creature has. Even during all too brief moments of clarity the memories of what he had done that night haunted him to the bone. The bones between his teeth, the gristle sliding between whitened knuckles, every man, woman, and childs death screams echoing in the deepest channels of his subconscious thought. PArt of him knew that it was merely psychic backlash from the real monsters that night, that his own body lay naked on the floor in the center of the pentagram becoming the tear in reality. That he was innocent of directly commiting the numerous and bloody crimes that ocurred as a result of the unholy ritual. That did nothing to stifle the screams, and nothing to stifle is guilt and fear. Not guilt over the killings but guilt over the fact that he did not feel anything. The deaths, the brutality, the gore. He felt nothing. What had he become? Would his beloved even recognize him now? This hollow twisted shell of a man.
He never noticed the brandings, the beatings, the torture paid for at top dollar by the relatives of the victims. He was content drowning in the dark loneliness of his own private hell. But, that was not the deal. He would not be allowed to die. Not yet. Not while they held her.
Shheeeeennnddaallllyyyyynnnn~ The voice sounded in his head as if it came from all directions. The malice in it was deep and punctuated by screams. In the back of his soul he could feel them trying to claw their way out. They had been patient since the initiail flare of the rituals completion. Now the hordes of hell demanded release once more.
Shendalyn stirred, the chains heavy on his wrists. His near catatonic state did not warrant the heavy guard and constant surveillance that other such prisoners might receive after committing such violent atrocities. His eyes did not even open as he muttered a response.
"Leave me be. Let me die."
Ohhh no Shendalyn my lad. We can't allow that. We won't allow that. You made a deal boy. And Hell does not look kindly on those who back out. We can make very artful examples of the souls that back out on their deals.
Ohhhh are you trying to pretend to be a strong man now? The voice laughed. What would she think? What would your dear wife and child think of their husband as her wretched larval soul was traded to some horrid abomination to slake his sick lusts on?
"You leave her be!" Shendalyn struggled against his chains the delirious half elf making his immediate neighbors nervous.
Struck a nerve did we? The voice laughed. Well quit your sniveling and break free of your predicament. You have so much work to do Shendalyn. So much hell to raise. Hehehehehahahahahahaaa!
Shendalyn's bloodshot eyes shot open darting around the room. He is sweatign coldly and his breathing is heavy. His beard is scraggly as if it has been unkempt for quite some time. His dark hair is straight and long and might have been well groomed before it became matted in dried blood and greasy sweat. His body is well toned and athletic though malnutrition, a long period of a wild and blasphemous nightlife, and numerous beatings have all taken their toll.
Seeing the others he blinks, swallows and composes himself.
"I can't remain here."
Turning to the gaav his eyes narrow at the chained devil. "I don't remember calling you."
Albrecht took in the half elf currently suffering bad dreams. Seems that someone jumped out of the frying pan, he thought to himself.
"You're not the only one," Albrecht replied dryly as the half-elf spoke. "Unless you think we're here for the fine dining and the view."
Albrecht looks at the woman with incredulity. "He's a gaav, woman," Albrecht replied in Infernal, "One of Hell's foot soldiers. Asmodeus won't spend one second caring for the fate of that one. He's nothing, a speck of dirt under Asmodeus' heel. I wouldn't pin any hopes of escape on him." As best he can, Albrecht attempts to stretch although the manacles prevent much movement.
"So, how many of you speak the Devil's Tongue?" Albrecht asked in Infernal, loud enough that everyone in the cell can hear him.
"Devil's and demons both. I've found it pays not to discriminate too much when dealing with the lower realms. If I were but free of these bonds I could call something a bit more...significant than the Gaav."
"And likely call down the entire guard on our heads as well," Albrecht replied, continuing to speak in Infernal. "Intellect and tactics will get us out of here, if we're going to get out at all."
Albrecht was well aware of Branderscar's reputation. He could only hope that it wasn't as well-earned as he suspected.
"Let's see who else we have in here with us before we go making any plans," Albrecht continued, in Infernal.
I'm actually thinking we should probably spoiler dialogue in other languages. At least then those who can't understand the language are less likely to meta ;)
As he speaks he tests the strnegth of his bonds. He was strong, and still strong despite himself bu he wasn't quite sure if he could rip his chains from the wall.
Well with a brief look around the sheets the only one where that's a question is Black Jack. So are we going to betray him and sacrifice him to the Prince of Darkness? :P
Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (18) - 1 = 17
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
You can put speech other than common in spoilers or as general text as long as it's well identified.
However if you do spoiler it - be careful to not obscure something that others could see (such as the grin in Albrecht's spoiler).
Albrecht turns the chains and manacles over and finds them well made and fitted with serviceable locks. The chain is beyond your strength to break and you don't know enough of locks to know if it can be picked... though you do lack a pick at any rate.
A huge man hung chained to the cell's wall unconscious. More than 6 feet tall and heavy builded his face is swollen with bruises, the tattered remains of his shirt stained with dry blood and old sweat. His shoulder length black hair and full beard matted with dirt.
From far away Jack Grieves begun to hear voices. Something about devils and magic. Reality reshaped itself from oblivion into a dark nightmare of pain and cramps. %*&$…my head. Should have kept you mouth shut Jack. Stupid move. You knew how sensitive Blackerly is about his whoring. Damn that &*ˆ%$ bastard.
Slowly he stretches himself into a standing position. His eyes scanning the dark cell. Looks like I have company. What a sad bunch of misfits.
Take 10 on knowledge religion, 14 on check.
What is that? A Gaaz?
With his throat dry and his voice rasping the tall man speaks:
Hello little fella. Does the Dark Prince have a bargain for me today? I could use some divine intervention right about now… Shaking his shackles
Say old fella, haven’t we meet before? he wispers.
Mi'Dre pulled his finger from the noisy lock and smiled, unable to help puffing his chest slightly as the lady spoke and called him a 'fiendish lord'. It Identified her as uneducated, but he wasn't above taking advantage of that should the opportunity present itself. He wasn't long allowed to entertain such thoughts before he sagged again under the weight of his chains, glaring at Albrecht.
Looking like he has a bad taste in his mouth Mi'Dre speaks again in common. "Two of you have the smell of Devils about you." he painfully indicated Jack and Shendalyn. "Yet the two of you also speak the Devil's tongue." He thought perhaps there was... something around Albrecht, but certainly nothing recent, nothing that would have landed him here... "Shall we share our misery to pass the time?"
He looked down once again at his chains and locks. Perhaps if he had something more delicate than his claw, and could take his time he may be able to succeed...
So I'm assuming not even if he had the opportunity to take twenty can Mi'Dre pick this lock? That would be a 23.
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
You'd have to have a proper set of thieves tools. Without them you're basically making the check at a -10 penalty. As the simplest ones are about 20 you're looking at about a 30 dc. Even if you managed to get your hands on a set we can probably assume easily enough that they wouldn't put a devil, an evil cleric, an accomplished warrior, and a man responsible for an infernal incursion and numerous brutal murders, in simple chains. If they did, I'd be insulted. :D
To the devil:
Pride is good.
But pride can get you killed.
By the looks of you that's a lesson you should already have learned little gaav. with a smile that never touched his eyes.
After a couple of seconds. Jack violently turn his head to other the prisioners.
Its bonding time. shaking his shackles again.
Jack Grieves at your sevice and delighted to meet the patrons of such a fine establishment. still with the same frozen smile he tries to make a bow but the chains don't let him.
Ooh, he said it out loud. Black Jack is not very subtle, sometimes.
Edited the previous post.
Can i roll a knowledge local to recognize any of my fellow cell mates?
If taking 10 for a 14 on the check are not enough to figure out anything here is the roll.
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
The mis-spell was my bad - had it wrong in the initial post.
At that moment, you hear distant footsteps and the grind of metal on stone. They gradually draw nearer before the gate that serves as the entry portal to your solid walled prison is unlocked and swung wide. A group of six guards, heavily armed and ready for trouble, come into the cell led by a fat well-dressed sergeant of the watch.
You can all recognize the portly guard as he recently held a red-hot brand that seared your skin. The memory of his chuckling and leering face as your skin burned is etched deep in your mind. Sergeant Tomas Blackerly is his name, a particularly sadistic and brutal gent who enjoys the power that he can lord over those imprisoned. However at present he seems somewhat distracted and slack of jaw.
Shuffling to the head of the group of guards, he points at the female among you saying gruffly “That one! She’s the scum! Get ‘er unshackled. If any of you fecking makes trouble, you’ll earn a booted reminder of your place!" at his words one of the other guards moves forward to release Albina from her bonds and two of them grip her roughly by the shoulders with her arms held firmly behind her.
Blackerly approaches close, his breath stinking of alcohol as he looks Albina up and down "Today’s your lucky day, scum. You’ve got a visitor. Don't know how yer parents managed turning out a fine one as she alongside a pig like yourself. Seems your sister wants to say good-bye. Now move yer arse and quick like. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”
With that the lady with the wan skin is removed from the cell and led away by the guards. They lock the gate behind them as they depart.
You are led through a square guardroom with a fireplace and manhandled into a windowless room that if furnished with only a table and four chairs. On the air is the metallic tang of blood and burned flesh. You are forced into a chair and your gaze alights on the other person present. Sitting opposite you 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 almost be white and her eyes are a vibrant almost unearthly green. She clearly has been weeping.
“My dear sister,” proclaims the unfamiliar woman. “I’m so relieved you’re alive!” She quickly turns to Sergeant Blackerly. “Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity’s sake?” coquettishly batting her eyelids. The man goes blank for a few moments before shaking his head as though coming out of a stun and quickly agreeing. “Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.” and the guards are cajoled by the sergeant to leave the room... leaving you alone with a woman who is most definitely not your sister.
Sense Motive check please
Mi'Dre simply sneered as the filthy Jack spoke his response. The man had no reason to answer his question, but even so his response and behavior seemed almost... unhinged. He had no response to the man's taunts so he simply lowered his head again, and began the slow, painful process of removing what splinters he could from his skin, dropping them in a little pile at his feet, until his attention was again drawn upwards.
He didn't need to look at his arm to remind himself of the brand. He just watched passively as the man and guards entered, wondering if they'd grown bored and were looking for some more sport, and who their victim would be. Judging from the state of the others in the cell he had been their favourite, but the five of them in the cell all seemed to have taken their licks.
When they chose the woman he relaxed slightly, about to wish her what little comfort he could provide, when the nature of the guard's calling was revealed. He lost interest in Albina then, just carefully studying Blackerly instead, counting weapons and looking for the best place to stick his claws, smiling as he imagined gutting the beastly man until he left.
Perception check:1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Sense Motive, DC 25 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7
Perception, DC 20 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4
Albina is far too wrapped up in her own inner monologue to notice anything about the guards, or the toad that branded her flesh, but attempts to dramatize her helplessness, requiring the guards to all-but drag her, as if she is too weak to stand on her own.
second Sense Motive, for the spoilery bit 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
Bluff check to act all helpless and stuff 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24
Once the guard has left, she turns a wary eye towards the mysterious woman, Sense Motive check above. If I try to move it down here, it will swap numbers with the Bluff check, due to how the forum software works... In a quiet matter-of-fact tone, Albina inquires, "My memory of the recent past may be somewhat unclear. Have I wronged you in some way, that you come to this place to witness my fall?"
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
Result of 2nd Sense Motive
Based on the reactions you've observed you are sure that the woman has some kind of power over the guard.
The newcomer's face remains concerned until the guard departs, when all pretense melts away. “Come now have you forgotten me, sibling mine?” the unexpected visitor says with a sarcastic smirk “You may call me Tiadora. We possess a mutual friend who would like to meet you and the other three cell-mates interred with you. Unfortunately, our friend is unwilling to visit you in your presently 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 can 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. That is where our mutual friend awaits and the first steps begin... That is all I know and I best not linger. Though 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..." and message delivered Tiadora rises to make for the door.
DM - Voice of the Voiceless
Take 10 on perception for a 12, if possible, or, if not... 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8
If it seems of unusually fine quality, and she has a moment to do so before the guards return, she will attempt to detect magic on the silken item. If not, she will attempt to hide it within her hair, the only place that she can be assured that, manacled to the wall, she will be able to reach, if necessary.
Albrecht tensed as Blackerly came within earshot. As the Sergeant went about removing the woman, he imagined all of the ways he could skewer the fat little pig if only he had a weapon. However, there were too many of them to consider making a move now even if he could get out of his chains. So he watched. Two guards at the door while the other four were arrayed in a line through the cell, their hands on their leather clubs in case of trouble. Even if everyone was out of their chains, it wouldn't be a fight he could be sure that they would win.
"Enjoy the freedom while it lasts," Albrecht said to Albina as she was led away.
"Well doesn't look like she'll be much help." he observed after the guards were gone, thoroughly convinced by the girl's performance as the guards hauled her off. He started to pull splinters again, wincing as the ones in his finger joints came free, though it made the task a bit easier so he endured the discomfort and continued to drop the shards of wood into the pile at his feet. He glanced at Jack as the man spoke, but didn't comment. He had studied the island in his preparation for recovering his target, but he still new relatively little about the place. He'd mainly focused on the town around the temple his target had been in.
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
Immediately, her demeanor once more changes and she is again a perfect picture of grief. Crying “No, I can’t bear to leave you!” as tears are once more conjured from her eyes to roll down her cheeks, she gives you a kiss on the cheek. When her lips touch they are ice-cold and their caress feels somehow alien and inhuman.
Blackerly shakes his head at her grief. “I’m afraid it’s time, miss.” Tiadora looks deep into Blackerly's eyes and says, “Thank you for letting me say farewell. There’s no need to search my dear sister. You are such a good friend for letting me see her one last time.”
“Such a good friend,” Blackerly repeats with his voice almost mechanical as the sound is issued as if by rote. Then the watch sergeant seems to snap out of it and bows politely. “A pleasure, madam,” Tiadora leaves unveiled in Blackerly's company. Her eyes meet yours one last time and she briefly gives you a wicked smile.
“Three days,” a telepathically voice echoes in your mind. “Don’t disappoint me, dearest” The visitation concluded, you are dragged back to the cell.
Not less than five minutes after the lady was dragged away, she is returned by a group of six guardsmen - the sergeant not present this time. She is locked back into her manacles and the guards leave you alone with your companions once more.
From this point on - a general note. Normal speech is fine, yelled or loud disagreements have a chance to attract the attention of the guards. Similarly any action that is loud may also attract their attention.
Forewarned is forearmed.
Albina waits for a long moment to be sure that the guards have gone before reaching into her hair, and teasing loose the silken veil, so that she can examine it more closely.
A flask of some sort, a bag, a pair of daggers, some unusual implements, perhaps of torture, a pentacle of Asmodeus, a window?, a lantern, a pile of bricks and a spiral of rope, perhaps? she ponders silently to herself, as she examines the embroidered designs. And yet, no concealed wires, that I can feel, that might be useful in picking our way out of these manacles...
In Infernal, she whispers to Mi'Dre, "I am Albina Mariposa, diabolus, and my destiny is not to die in this place. If I can divine a means from this place, will you accompany me, immortal one?"
Mi'Dre almost had his hands cleared of splinters now, the demon flexing his digits experimentally. He winced slightly, some of the shards apparently too fine for him to spot, but it was better. He was starting to test the tightness of his manacles when the guards returned, quickly stopping his efforts, watching as Albina was re-shackled. He was starting to lose interest again when he noticed her pull something from her hair. He couldn't help the slight smile that rose to his cracked lips.
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
Turning the veil over within her manacled hands Albina finds it a fine silk veil of gossamer cloth. There are a number of delicate patches embroidered unto the fabric:
- two daggers
- a lantern
- a length of rope
- a sack
- a set of fine tools
- a window
- a flask
- a stack of gold coins
- the symbol of Asmodeus
Perhaps this veil holds a similar magic?
For a few moments, Albrecht stared at the veil. It can't be, he thinks to himself. For such fortune to land in their lap, perhaps Asmodeus was looking out for them after all.
Albrecht had to suppress a laugh. This motley group might just be the first to escape Branderscar!
Albrecht craned his neck to see what he could see outside of their cell.
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
If her manacles allow her the freedom of movement to do so, Albina very quietly casts detect magic, to confirm that this veil is indeed such a magical item, and not merely an oddly embroidered bit of mundane silk.
Albina whispers again, in the common tongue, "Are any here skilled at the picking of locks?"
As she speaks, she reaches out quietly with a manacled hand to see if she has enough reach to hand something to the person chained beside her, although she does not yet hand off an item.
"And has anyone marked a schedule for when the guards pay us visits? I would prefer to take my leave soon after they leave us alone for a spell, to lengthen the amount of time that passes before another shift comes to find us gone..."
"I have some talent with the picks, though the guard's treatment did me no favors. If you sister managed to pass along some tools though...?" Mi'Dre didn't quite know what the excitement was over the scarf yet, but it seemed Albina had connections. He craned his head towards the scarf, catching glimpses of the items pictured thereon.
At Albina's second question Mi'Dre shook his head. "None that I have determined, but I have only been here a few hours..." he replied, glancing at Albrecht and Shendalyn at their suggestions, and then finally at Jack.
"If we plan to work together then we should know what everyone is capable of. I am nimble and quiet, and stronger than I might appear. I wager in a test of strength I could take any of you." The devil's head raised as if expecting a challenge, while he flexed aching muscles, gritting his teeth again the countless pains that wracked his body. "The guards have maimed me however, I feel that all my power is not available to me. Even so I need no weapons, nor light of any kind, and my kind is... adept at physically overpowering people. I know a few small spells that remain to me, and" as if continuing the same sentence in everyone's mind I can facilitate silent communication.
He let that sink for a few moments before turning back to Albina. "Now if you have some picks for me, I shall see if my skills are sufficient to the task." the Devil glanced towards the door and cast a quick spell, causing a ghostly clawed hand to appear in front of Albina, outstretched to receive the picks.
"I have skill with sword and magic," Albrecht whispered while the Gaav worked his magic, "I'm also a trained soldier and command troops on the field of battle."
Looking at Albina, Albrecht nodded.
"Please, Gaav, don't be modest. Tell us everything you can do." Shendalyn says sarcastically rolling his eyes.
Turning to Albrecht.
"I have some skill with a blade and magic like our friend here. Though I think it's a fair judgment to say our methods are...radically different."
"Well that is oh so helpful." Mi'Dre returned with a sigh. He had no to desire to be in charge, but someone had to. He did not want his existence to end here; unlike these Mortals he was already in his afterlife, and if it ended now then that would be it.
"If your ego requires it then feel free to take charge, but knowing more than that you have 'some skill' would be helpful to the rest of us. This is no time for secrets; what spells do you have available to you, and will they be any help in subduing the guards and finding our way out?" he glanced again at the scarf Albina held. "We only have limited resources, so we must plan accordingly." he was no great tactician, merely one amongst dozen of his kind back in Hell, but he did have aspirations, and was doing his best to apply what knowledge he had obtained.
"I agree if we can we should eliminate what forces they have here, as these are likely to be amongst the better trained in the area, are they not? Even should there be other officers nearby, I do not plan to linger long to try and assassinate anyone else who might follow." he fully intended to try and make contact with the one who had been meant to return him to his home plane, but he didn't know how likely such a thing would be any more. His capture likely frightened said contact into hiding.
What does Mi'Dre actually know about Brandescar? Knowledge (Local)1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
|DM - Voice of the Voiceless|
Albina's inspection of the veil proves that it is magical, and it functions as suspected - when a patch is removed the corresponding item is created as if from air. She also knows that the process is one way, and there is no way that the items can be returned to patch form. Lastly, try as she might - she cannot confirm exactly what each patch entails without removing it...
This is the first night that you will have been specifically within this cell within Branderscar; so if you want to wait to get an idea of watch schedules and the like you'll need to wait overnight - using up one of your three days.
I shall not accept your challenge dear Gaav, being a simple mortal myself, but I know my way around weapons and its uses too. I also know people on the outside who can be of some help once we get out.
And as you said...I do have some of the Prince's blessings bestowed upon my person. smilling to himself.