A thin smile forms on the quiet figure's face, So he is frightened of us. Good. Always a good point to begin from. The fools talking should know better by now. Still, I am not the only one who sees the injustices these men get away with in the name of 'good.' You run in, butcher the sentient inhabitants of a thriving community and abscond with all their belongings, nobody bats an eye. But convince a noblewoman to give you a staff, and everybody loses their minds. And the difference is one is done in the name of Mitra, the other not. Absurd.
Affyria turns her head to glance at the others, her horns making an unnerving sound as their tips scrape against the stone walls. She slowly licks her lips, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. "Afraid, of us? Why ever so, we're dyed in the wool model citizens," she chuckles. Slightly more serious, she adds with a whisper, "If these guards had any modicum of intelligence they would have seperated us all into different cells. For their stupidity, they will pay the price tonight."
Looking over towards the pretty blonde man, Affyria appears to be sizing him up for a moment, then asks, "What about you, or did they cut out your tongue before they chained you in here?"
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After a moment of deliberation, Daidalos answers, "Why, my dear, I still have my tongue. But here, why would I use it? Words can be powerful, why would I waste mine? Besides, the guards don't like it, and we may as well make their last hours pleasant. They have done nothing wrong beyond their job, and deserve at least respectful treatment. They merely believe the lies they have been fed their entire lives about the 'good' god Mitra." The man's voice is silky, and each word clearly chosen. Underneath the smoothness, though, there is an underlying biting flame and subtle darkness.
Price takes the hit with a grunt. After the guard leaves, she looks at Timo, "Never a fountain around when you need one."
Timo grins at Price, "You're a feisty one ain't you"
Hmm... My compatriots here say he's afraid of us but I don't see it. I'll take their word for it. Doesn't matter much If he doesn't fear us now, he soon will.
A few hours later, a quartet of guards and a couple of servants enter the cell block. One of the servants has a large pot of some sort of "stew" as well as a funnel with a leather strap attached to the rim. The other carries a mop and bucket. The guards open the cell block and one announces what to expect, "Alright, animals. It's feeding time. Here's how this works. You don't move. You don't squeak. This guy with the food is going to put this funnel in your mouth and will pour some of the stew into the funnel. You have thirty seconds to drink. Then the funnel gets pulled and the guy with the mop is going to sweep up your mess. This'll be the routine tomorrow morning, tomorrow night and then next day until your sentence is carried out."
As he explains this, a third servant enters with a tray of the slop accompanied by yet another guard. This pair heads to the heavy iron door and from behind it you hear chains rattle as something moves around. The guard opens a fold-up panel near the bottom of the door and the servant slides the tray underneath it. And that's when things get interesting.
The tray is pulled in through the door, then flung out with such force it hits the servant's leg with a loud CRACK of metal against bone. From the other side of the door, a slightly slurred and deep rumbling voice yells in rough common, "No more poishun!" Something huge slams into the door, causing it to rattle down to its hinges. The servant scurries back then half-limps, half-crawls out of the cell block while several of the guards pull their swords and stare at the door in fear.
But after the first slam...the thing on the other side of the door falls silent. The chains rattle as it moves away and then seems to sit down.
Your feeding resumes.
Affyria keeps quiet, but grins wickedly at the guards, and snaps her jaw at them when they approach with the funnel. She relishes when they flinch.
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Price plays the feeding game without complaint or resistance. She largely ignores the process while keenly watching the 'vault' with the unseen guest who is enjoying Mitran hospitality.
Complaining seems pointless yet the barbarity of the proceedings is of such magnitude that Asturu can't help but feel outraged. His dismay is written all over his face as he endures the ordeal.
The "stew" is a room temperature, semi-congealed slop of leftover meat and vegetables that were likely on the verge of rotting before being added to the pot. There is something of a beef base to it, but the overall effect is borderline nausea-inducing.
For her snapping of the teeth at the servant--and they do flinch--the guard quickly recovers and slams his club into Affyria's stomach. "No food for you, then."
The rattled and nervous servant -- an older, balding man missing some teeth -- then skips her and moves on to the next prisoner. One of the guards who drew his sword at the commotion in the vault pats him on the shoulder, "It's okay. Just finish up and we'll be done here."
Absent any other incidents, the servants and the guards withdraw. Despite the second servant's efforts to clean up your dribbling and excrement, the floor beneath you is now just a mash of piss, crap and slop (perhaps soon to be joined by vomit).
Affyria groans painfully and coughs. When she regains her breath she smirks at the guard. "Not to worry, I had a big meal before I came here."
Inelukii narrows his eyes as the guard comes close enough to remove his mask... behind the mask he is smiling, but his eyes reflect none of that... In truth he's hungry but he'd never admit it to them... he wants none of their slop after the other prisoner called it poison. He does however want them to remove the mask, so he makes no effort to indicate he's not going to eat... yet.
You can alter sounds around you. You are able to create sounds as per the spell ghost sound, as well as alter your voice however you wish, granting a +2 competence bonus on performance (sing) checks.
It actually says nothing about needing your mouth to make these sounds, but to let the guards think he does, he waits... and suddenly
Sound erupts from across the hall of the door breaking and growls and roars as if from something large come through... When the guards' attentions hopefully turn that direction, he screeches a ultrasonic tone that (also hopefully) hits the guard that clubbed him earlier.
A soft gutteral voice from the air behind the guard says "That's for being a dick."
All of the guards' attention pivots back to the heavily reinforced door, confusion evident on their faces as the vision doesn't match the what their ears are telling them, and then the one closest to the skinwalker is blasted by sonic energy. Though injured by the blast, he is still upright and both he and his colleague immediately leap to the attack, attempting to pummel Inelukii into unconsciousness.
One cracks his club into Inelukii's head, while the other, who had drawn his sword at the first sound of trouble from the vault, attempts to strike the shifter with the flat of his blade, but only clangs it against the wall. Another guard moves into the cell, sheathing his sword and drawing his club, while two others keep swords drawn and stare warily at the door. The last continues to stand ready with the horn, not blowing it...yet.
Guard 1 = -6 lethal
Inelukii = -3 lethal, -2 nonlethal
Affyria = -3 nonlethal
-------------------
Inelukii, knowing he's already lost this fight, being bound and relatively helpless against their attacks... narrows his eyes and hisses softly... then aims another blast of sonic energy at the same injured guard, hoping to drop him at least.
but this time, beset by other guards and having just been clubbed in the head, his aim is off and the attack instead chips a little bit of stone off the wall.
Timo sends a glare at the changeling as he takes a beating. "The fool! We had a plan. Couldn't he have kept himself composed for just a little while longer? Then we could have taken them quickly and as one. "
Timo continues his thought as he surveys the guards paying particular attention to the one with the horn. At least something positive can come out of this and we can take note of the guards strengths and styles."
Price watches the beat-down with a clinical eye, mostly looking to see how big a bite the chained sorcerer manages to take out of the guards. She tsks under her breath at the guards' lackluster performance. She rolls her eyes when the guard's sword clangs against the wall instead of flesh.
Amateurs. How many guards DOES it take to knock out a man chained hand and foot?
Even though, with all the commotion and chaos, Timo can't seem to make heads nor tails of what's happening, he and everyone else can recall that only the guard near the door seems to carry a horn.
Price determines the guard is injured but it's not serious.
Asturu softly shakes his head, but he quickly realises that Ineluki's stupidity can be turned into something more useful. With a hint of desperation and defeatism he addresses the man. "Don't you see this is all pointless? Stop resisting, all of us have already lost!"
Ha, the guards just might take it easy tonight knowing that they've successfully calmed down and intimidated us.
A man can dream.
Daidalos leers at Luki, and mutters to himself,"Murkha. Taipani, pani mūrkha āphnō uddēśya cha, ra thapa sajilai niyantraṇa chan.
"Idiot. Still, even fools have their purpose, and are more easily controlled."
As the slop is offered to Morthos, he makes no effort to partake of it but stares hard into the guard's eyes for a moment. "Do you fear us, boy?" he asks, his tone dark, yet, completely calm and controlled.
Asturo's words fall on seemingly deaf ears as the two guards continue to pummel the man.
The blow from the club is particularly fierce, wound up like the guard was chopping a tree, it cracks into the prisoner's temple with a sickening thud. He's already unconscious when the flat of the other guard's blade slams into his chest for good measure
The attention of the third guard is divided between that scene and the various prisoners who've taking to talking and taunting during this. He's not sure who to hit so he stays still for now, waiting to see if anyone actually poses a threat.
The other two back up slightly, examine the prisoner, then reattach the mask.
"Blackerly's not going to be happy to hear this."
"Who says he needs to know?
The guard who was injured and bashed Luke into unconsciousness yells at all of you, a mix of rage and frustration in his voice, "Let that be a lesson. It can go easy or hard!" He spits on the shifter's body, then to the rest of the guards says, "Let's go. That one can starve for the rest of his stay."
The situation having generally devolved and the servants having all fled, you are left with a thoroughly unmitigated collection of excrement and blood in the cell.
Affyria ignores the commotion with the guards, and closes her eyes again. For a moment, she almost looks peaceful.
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Price examines Luke as best as she can, trying to determine how long he'll be out and how bad his more serious wounds are. "Looks like he'll be sleeping that off for awh..." She stops as she catches sight of their unseen watcher. She gives him/it a friendly wave and a smile. "Hello. I'm Miss Price and we don't like the food any better than you do."
Ineluki slumps to the ground with a groan after the clubbing, the sword hit just adding insult to injury, none of which he's aware of any longer.
Price has trouble discerning Luke's condition, probably due to all the blood from the scalp wound. Still, she knows those wounds tend to bleed a lot. It likely looks worse than it is. Probably.
There is no immediate response to Price's entreaty to the thing in the reinforced cell, but a few moments after the guards have left a meaty hand with nails like short talons pokes the hatch open again and a voice like boulders rubbing against one another rumbles as quietly as it is capable, "Little 'un do dumb thing. Need hands free to kill guards. But then they just put Grumblejack in here."
To the other prisoners, Price raises an eyebrow at the response. An opportunity?
She responds as quietly as she can, "You're right, Grumblejack. He was angry, not smart. We need to get free before we can kill guards and escape. But, there are many of them and few of us. Working together would be smart, right?"
Asturu notices the large eye and with a sense of bewondering observes the proceedings. Just how large was their neighbour?! He could be a veritable behemoth, by the looks of it.
But the sight of the shifter's bleeding head wound makes the blonde man clatter his teeth in a rhythmic and unsettling manner. "He could go either way with that wound. Sadly, I'm in no state to give him any medical attention and even if these chains were to disappear, I don't think I could do much without my gear."
Asturu then hastily adds,"Is it perhaps dinner time for the guards?" and he tries to catch Price's attention, nodding at the blasted veil and its potential for getting them out of here.
The tone of the creature's rumbling shifts, turning almost... hungry? "Grumblejack will help little 'uns kill guards if little 'uns free Grumblejack. They put poishun in Grumblejack's food to make weak and sleepy but stopped eating and is still strong."
Affyria glances at the unconscious Inelukii. "I'm not yet convinced that we're not better off without him, but I should be able to revive him if needed, and if I can get a look at that veil. That said, perhaps we should think about springing into action now."
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"I must agree. The guards are probably slowed from their own meal or possibly even lulled into a false confidence from their beating of chained men. The time to move is now." Timo whispers to his compatriots.
Glancing at the vault door Timo thinks to himself, "What manner of beast do they have in there? They fear it more than they fear us. It says it will help us, but can we trust it not to turn on us the moment it's freed?"
The tone of the creature's rumbling shifts, turning almost... hungry? "Grumblejack will help little 'uns kill guards if little 'uns free Grumblejack. They put poishun in Grumblejack's food to make weak and sleepy but stopped eating and is still strong."
Price jumps at the chance to form an alliance with the mysterious Grumblejack. "Deal. I give you my word we'll get you out and get you real food if you'll help us kill guards and escape. Now, at times we'll need to be quiet and sneaky. Will you do that too, when I ask?" The Inquisitor's excitement is shortlived as she half-listens to the hushed debate happening close at hand. "Excuse me, Grumblejack, I'll get back to you. My allies are discussing our plan."
She pays close attention to the conversation with growing concern. Everyone wants to attend the party but no one wants to prep for it or clean up. She briefly debates how the handle the situation. The first method is more assured of success, but it would destroy any trust that had been built up... and would likely end with Price getting backstabbed IF they managed to escape the prison which she estimated at no better than 1 in 20. The other method was more honest but more likely to end in disaster. F@c<...
Price bangs the back of her skull against wall to gain their undivided attention. She holds up a single finger and hisses at them. "This is Brandescar. No one has ever escaped from here. We have one, ONE chance to break out. Do you really want to bet your lives on the notion that the guards may be lulled or full of s!!&ty food? I don't. Here's what I see. Several of you have said the guards are afraid of us. I don't see it, but I believe you. Now, a chained and manacled prisoner just kicked the s$** out of a guard without using his hands. That news is going to spread through this s~**hole like clap in a whorehouse. And it's going to make the guards more afraid. Scared people are more alert. Scared people are more cautious. Scared people are more focused. Now, let's assume we do get out of these chains, kill the guards nearby without raising the alarm, and get out of this dungeon. Did you look at Brandescar on the way in? This place is a fortress. So after we get out, we'll probably have to cross a courtyard. Then there is likely to be a portcullis and/or a murderhole. Let's assume we get past all that. We're on an island - which means we have cross an open bridge and maybe some guards on the far side. Or we can try to swim. Once we are past those problems... we have to escape through open countryside and avoid any cavalry." She smiles, it isn't pleasant. "If we try to do all that NOW - we're doing it during daylight hours with fearful guards on the walls when all stations are likely manned and alert. Is that the roll of the dice you want to bet your lives on? Or do you want to stack the odds in our favor?"
Affyria fixes a cold gaze at Price. "I'm not proposing to do it during daylight at all, not in the least because my vision is superior to these humans at night. But─and forgive me Ms Price─I put little faith in your skill with locks, so if you do manage to acquire the tools from that veil, it might take you awhile to actually free yourself. And after that, you'll still have to get the rest of us out. That means about 14 locks for you to pick through, not counting our cell door, or that creature's celldoor. Now, I don't know how trained you are with those things, but that still might take you a good while, meaning it will probably be well past nightfall before we're all free. And since they have just been in to feed us, chances are they won't be back in this cellblock until tomorrow."
The tiefling then rests her head back against the wall and adds, "Besides, my f~$&ing back is killing me."
"For what it's worth, we should release our neighbour if possible. We're all chained to one another until we escape these walls and with the odds stacked against us .. and I'll close my eyes until you deem the time is right to undo your chains. If you can undo them."
There was always the risk of the woman screwing up and breaking a picklock in the process.
"No offence taken. You are right to worry about how quickly I can get through the locks. I'm wondering about that myself... but it shouldn't take hours and if it does, we're screwed. But, I may not need to pick every one. The guards have keys. With just a few of us free, we should be able to lure and take the guards. Then we get the keys to the kingdom, so to speak."
"And if I'm right about the reaction to the injured guard, I think we'll have visitors within an hour or so. If Blackerly hears about this, he'll definitely be down here to check on Luke and make a show of us - to keep his tin soldiers from soiling themselves, if nothing else. I doubt they are going to calm down for at least a few hours. Having said that, getting the cloth to me sooner rather than later would be good."
She regards the other woman with humor, "Sadly, I can't help with your back at the moment. After we're out, I'll happily give you a back-rub."
A sly grin forms at the sight of the beast. Oh this is too perfect. Ignoring most of Price's rant and the back and forth between them all, he speaks to the creature directly. "We will free you, mighty one, oh yes we will. You will have your chance at revenge along with the rest of us. Patience, my friend, patience, when the night falls then we shall be free and you along with us." He then looks to Price, "Do not concern yourself with trivial issues, Price. Whatever reputation this pathetic place has garnered matters little. It will not hold us. Nightfall nears, the time for our departure is soon. Wait for it."
As the hours pass by, Morthos makes an attempt at his manacles and works to free himself.
Daidalos, having heard more of the creature, attempts to figure out what it is again.
He then spends the rest of the time in the silence that the others might have grown accustomed to, conserving his energy and otherwise meditating, trying to listen in on the conversations of the guards.
Price watches Morthos, both curious and amused. Finally, with dry wit, she says, "As you suggested, I've been waiting... and these locks just aren't picking themselves. How about we get that rag into my hands?"
"Can you drop the tools and kick them to her? It seems you can't crumple up the veil and toss it, what with us being locked in a holy prayer position to Mitra for redemption."
Asturu is getting more than a little antsy now that freedom from these suffocating bounds is so close.
When the agreed upon time arrives, Morthos casts a quick glance about the cell to ensure everyone is ready. Or, in the case of the Inelukii, not making a lot of noise in their unconscious state. Holding the veil in one hand, he picks at the embroidery of the lock picks until, indeed, a patch begins to peel off. He drops the patch and it floats to the stone floor. For a few seconds, nothing seems to happen. And then the fabric begins to sizzle and smoke--not much, there is no sound and the smoke quickly dissipated--and within seconds where there once was an embroidered silken patch is now a set of masterwork lock picks.
Price starts exercising her fingers, trying to warm them up and get the blood back in them. She looks at the lockpicks on the floor and says to Morthos, "I have to say - I'm really warming up to your girlfriend."
When the tools hit the ground, Daidalos starts concentrating, his fingers spinning delicate [color=Crimson]crimson spider-runes (ركة)[/color in the air, "haraka". However, the manacles interfere with the fragile rune-tracing and the spell fizzles. He shakes his head and tries again. When he's finally successful, he moves the kit on the floor through the air and into the hands of Price.