Ready, set DOT!
dotting.
Glares.
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 her chosen mortal vassals.
Condemned, you face at best a life of shackles and servitude in the nearby salt mines. Others might await the “gentle” ministrations of the inquisitors so that co-conspirators may be revealed and confessions extracted. Perhaps, some of you will be spared this ordeal. Perhaps instead you have come to Branderscar to face the final judgment. In three days, the executioner arrives and the axe falls or the pyre will be lit. Through fire or steel, your crimes will be answered.
You have all been chained together in the same communal cell dressed in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. Manhandled and mistreated, any finery you once possessed is either ruined or long lost. No special treatment has been given any prisoner – male or female, commoner or noble – all of the forsaken are bound and imprisoned together. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain. Your arms are secured to the wall above by manacles. A guard is posted right outside the cell day and night. Little thought is given to long term accommodations. At Branderscar, justice comes swift and sure.
Escape seems hopeless. You have all been well searched and every attempt to conceal anything on your person has failed. And if you could somehow slip your bonds and fly out of this prison, where would you go? Who from your former life would want anything to do with the forsaken? Despised, alone and shackled – all that you can do now is await your doom.
For each of you, your old life is over. For each of you, hope is a fading memory. For each of you, justice will be fairly meted. And who can blame fair Talingarde after what each of you has done?
The six of you recall the events earlier in the day.
The prison creaks as you are rolled along. A chill wind whips around your bodies, a telling sign you are near some body of water, though you cannot see it. Your heads have been covered in hoods, your mouths gagged. Iron shackles bind your hands in front of you, attached to the floor of the wagon, while another pair of shackles bind your ankles, keeping your stride short. The only clothing you wear are rags that were provided you shortly after your capture.
The wagon stops for a moment, and you hear one of the men guarding you speak to another, though the words themselves escape you. The sound of an opening gate can be heard, then the wagon moves forward, taking you to what can only be your home for the next three days, Branderscar Prison.
The wagon stops just a short distance in, the cage heard to be unlocked. The guard can be heard speaking, "Bunch of bloody criminals", "they'll get what's coming to 'em", "keep an eye on 'em". The cage unlocked, rough hands come in and drag the six of you out, sharp tips that can only be swords prodding you onwards.
The six march single file, blind and shackled, the only guide the taunts of the guards, as you are lead into what must be a building. Rounding a corner, you feel an opressive heat wash over you as a rough voice calls out, "It would seem we have some new guests. The first thing we do here is your initiation." Several of the guads start to chuckle at his statement.
The first of the prisoners is shoved forward. "Take a look boys, this one here is a man of pure evil. He converted not just one, not two, but three loyal Iomadaeans. Let this be a lesson to anyone thinking of going against her. Remember, I stop when you scream." With that Haruk feels a hot brand sink into his arm, digging deep. Haruk holds out for a moment, but the pain overwhelms him and he calls out.
The mark in place he is pulled away and moved aside as the next is brought forward. "Our next guest is a deserter. Boy did she fall, took to stealing when they caught her. Remember you lot, this is what happens if you decide to run." Beatrix's arm is pulled forward as he speaks, the brand thrust against her arm.
The third in line is brought up next. "This one was saved from a life of piracy by none other than Sir Balin of Karfield. How did he thank him? He killed Sir Balin's nephew, the scum." The brand is used against Alavandru next.
The line moves forward and and the fourth is brought in. "High Treason? My, my, my, couldn't you just be happy with the lot life gave you?" Morthos is next to receive the brand.
A fifth is brought forward. "Of all things, a gnome! And what did this 'hardened criminal' do? Fraud! Greedy little grubber embezzled a small fortune, he did. If it weren't for the fact that the workers ended up revolting and several people ended up dead, doubt he would even be here. That's his misfortune." The man's mirth at Bostarg's fate did little to stop him from branding him the same.
The last man is brought in. "And our last guest just happens to be another pirate. Wasn't quite saved like our other friend though. Strange things happen around this one, I was told. Well, let's just remind him, this is it for him." He is the last to receive the brand.
"Take this lot away." The six of you are taken away, led up a flight of stairs. You can hear the sound of a cell opening, where the six of you are led inside and locked up. Your hands are attached to the wall's behind you, and a chain on one wall is looped through your ankles, binding the four of you together. You are able to sit. When all are secured, your masks and gags are removed, your first signs of your new accomodations. As your eyes adjust, you see the six of you are in a cell, though there is a strange, very large doorway off to the right.
Several guards stand outside the cell, one of them the man who performed the branding. "My name is Seargent Tomas Blackerly. I'm in charge of these soldiers here, and I plan to make your next three days miserable." With that he turns and leaves the cell, only two guards left by the far doorway.
Alazandaru does little to acknowledge the guards or even his fellow prisoners- he recalled whimpering in pain for a moment when they applied the brand but truth be told, his mind wasn't quite with his body when they gave him the Forsaken symbol. He had not passed out, but he had always been an incredibly resilient individual. Sat in the cell, he seemed a little dazed
Looking at the branded over his shoulder finally brought him back to focus. The symbol of the Forsaken. The last confirmation that there was now no going back, no redeeming himself in Sir Balin's eyes; in Talingarde's eyes. No matter what great deeds Alazandaru could now go on to accomplish, no matter how much good he did to atone for his crime; it would now never be enough. The young Varisian pulled a strange expression then; a mixture between a grimace and a wry smile as he realised he was still thinking like he had a future. The brand was a very sombre thing, as it sank in that it was now extremely unlikely he had any future at all. For the crime of murder, he would be beheaded. At least it would be mercifully quick. For all Sir Balin's new-found contempt for him, he never seemed interested in prolonging suffering.
Alazandaru mustered his will to live, refusing to give in to despair; at least not without even attempting to break free. He had slipped manacles before; at least, basic sets. Sir Balin had been most amused as he 'tested' a set of finely crafted restraints on him during training, but he had not been able to slip those. Still paying no attention to the others in his cell, he began the slow, uncomfortable process of probing the manacles for weakness and seeking a tiny flaw to exploit in order to escape it.
While he worked, he tried to remember anything special about the banding process or the brand itself, his agile mind idly wondering if any magic was tied into it in order to track down an escapee. A rather moot gesture with the track record for successful escapes, but perhaps they still took the precaution.
Knowledge (Local)
Spellcraft
Alazandaru attempts to wriggle his way out of the manacles, only to find the effort for naught. The manacles are old, but quite sturdy and functional.
As soon as the sergeant is away Bea tests her bonds, more out of reassuring herself than out of any expectation of breaking them. After a moment of struggling she calms down and sits quietly, a sullen look on her face as she stares at the other captives.
- strength check
Morthos sits calmly, and slightly weary, saying nothing as he surveys the room. His hair unkempt, his body bruised and burned, yet, unconcerned with his current predictament. Seargent Tomas Blackerly. I shall not forget you. He eyes the man through narrowed eyes as he walks away. Examining his newfound mark, No. I shall not forget. Noticing the others attempting to escape, "Do not worry. They have made a grievous error by giving us three days. The moment is near. Wait for it." He speaks as he peers in the direction of the guards. A tone of absolute confidence in his voice.
The second pirate, last in the procession by virtue of his recent capture, sits and observes. The movements of trained guards. The posture of the prisoners as his procession passed their cells. The recitation of the anxious gnome. The early comments of the other inmates in the room.
His expression is dull, as if he were fighting sleep. His torn tunic is stained with sweat and blood. A prominent scar crawls across the line of his left jaw, making his face instantly memorable. At long last he speaks.
I spent three days on driftwood once. Three days is more than most will survive. But before my ship broke apart, I took a half-empty waterskin from another deckhand. I was lucid the whole time. Three days with naught but my fate to consider. It's a long, sleepless time.
He looks over the other prisoners quietly and then nods his support. Three days is plenty of time.
A shirtless man, whose chest is covered in what can only be Infernal tattoos sits and looks you all over with eyes that can only be described as distressingly black. He has a tiny pair of horns which are barely visible in his long, purple-black hair. His gaze settles on Morthos. "Curious, why are you so confident? I know why I am, yet what makes you speak of not worrying?"
Morthos slowly turns his gaze to Haruk, "And I ask you: Why are you not?"
"You misunderstand, I am confident. My question is, why are you? While I am to be put to death for my crimes, I do not believe The King of Hell is willing to let die so useful a servant. I have served Him well over the years, after all, including my crime that lead to my being here"
He looks to him curiously, "I've heard you speak of this, 'King of Hell'. He sounds...intriguing. Now this so-called crime the pathetic king has falsely accused you of, I would gather it has something to do with this king of yours? If so, explain to me why he would arrest one for it. Fear is the only reasonable explanation, but nevertheless, explain."
As soon as the sergeant is away Bea tests her bonds, more out of reassuring herself than out of any expectation of breaking them. After a moment of struggling she calms down and sits quietly, a sullen look on her face as she stares at the other captives.
1d20+4 - strength check
At the sound of Beatrix testing the chains, the guards yell out, "Go ahead and try, you won't be busting out of those anytime soon!" With a chuckle, they turn back to their own conversation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As you all discuss your current circumstances, the door to the cells open, and in strides Seargent Blackerly. He looks perturbed as he walks up to the cell door, 6 guards in tow.
“You there! That’s the scum! Get ‘em unshackled. If any of you makes trouble, they’ll earn a thrashing! Or worse." He turns back to Bostarg. "Today’s your lucky day, scum. You’ve got a visitor. How you ever warranted such a fine lady is beyond me. Seems she wants to say good-bye. Now step lively. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.” The door to the cell is opened and the guards enter, two retrieving Bostarg while the other four watch the rest of you for trouble.
Haruk sits up as straight as possible considering the restraints he's in. When he speaks, the pride is evident in his voice "You heard what the Sargent said right before he branded me? About causing the fall of three worshipers of Iomedae? It was a trio of siblings that I encountered several years ago. Slowly, but surely, I turned first the youngest, then his sister not too long after. I finally caused their older brother to fall, with their help. They now all worship Asmodeus, the Prince of Darkness and the Lord of the Nine." Its clear the way he talks that this was his greatest achievement thus far in his life.
"Unfortunately, my unholy trio's father was a very wealthy lord, who paid a small fortune to Sir Balin to hunt us down. I say was because before we were caught, we managed to kill the good noble for his audacity. His own daughter, his princess, delivered the killing blow, right after the old man's heart broke upon seeing his children embrace wickedness so willingly. Balin eventually caught us, and I ended up here. Asmodeus willing, the three are still free, spreading His word and teachings, consigning the foolish and gullible to the Pit"
You are escorted to a room just down the hall from the prison cells, a meeting room. In the room is a hauntingly beautiful woman with platinum blond hair and vibrant and unearthly green eyes. “Oh, dearest,” proclaims the unfamiliar woman. “I’m so relieved you’re alive!” She quickly turns to Tomas. “Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity’s sake?”
Tomas goes blank for a bit and then quickly agrees. “Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.”
As soon as the guards leave, the woman's demeanor immediately changes. She drops all pretense of grief or concern. She is immediately all business. “Have you forgotten me, dearest?” the unexpected visitor says with a smirk, dropping her pretense of grief. “Call me Tiadora. We possess a mutual friend who would like to meet you and your fellow cell-mates. Unfortunately, our friend is unwilling to visit you in your present rather shabby accommodations so it seems you must escape. Don’t be so dour. Just because it’s never been done before is no reason you can’t be the first.
“If you manage that, cross the moors on the outskirts of town. On the old Moor Road you’ll see a manor house with a single lantern burning in the second story. There our mutual friend waits. That is all I know. He did want me to give you this.”
She takes off her silken veil and wipes away a few fake tears with it.
“Something to remember me by, dearest.”
Briefly interrupted, Morthos pays little mind to the guards. But he does eye Blackerly with a look of revenge. Your time is short, Blackerly. Enjoy it. You will pay for your crimes.
As the guards take the small one out of the prison, Morthos turns his attention back to Haruk, listening intently.
Haruk sits up as straight as possible considering the restraints he's in. When he speaks, the pride is evident in his voice "You heard what the Sargent said right before he branded me? About causing the fall of three worshipers of Iomedae?"
Morthos nods affirmatively.
"It was a trio of siblings that I encountered several years ago. Slowly, but surely, I turned first the youngest, then his sister not too long after. I finally caused their older brother to fall, with their help. They now all worship Asmodeus, the Prince of Darkness and the Lord of the Nine." Its clear the way he talks that this was his greatest achievement thus far in his life.
"Asmodeus. I've heard the name. Go on."
"Unfortunately, my unholy trio's father was a very wealthy lord, who paid a small fortune to Sir Balin to hunt us down. I say was because before we were caught, we managed to kill the good noble for his audacity. His own daughter, his princess, delivered the killing blow, right after the old man's heart broke upon seeing his children embrace wickedness so willingly. Balin eventually caught us, and I ended up here. Asmodeus willing, the three are still free, spreading His word and teachings, consigning the foolish and gullible to the Pit"
Morthos ponders all that he's heard. "Wickedness. That is a term the pathetic king and all of those who follow him, like to refer to us as. When it is obvious, they should be using such a term for themselves. They," he looks in the direction of the guards and Blackerly, "are the wicked ones, you see. This noble you speak of, who hires another to hunt down his own flesh and blood, he was the true criminal in all of this. Do you not see? We are not the wicked, it is all of them. It does not sound like these three you speak of have fallen, oh no, they have risen. Risen above and conquered." Morthos loses himself, for a moment, at that last statement. "Yes... conquered," he thoughtlessly whispers. Removing himself from his reverie, a sinister smile forms. "I am intrigued."
Alazandaru pays little attention to the preacher inside his cell, but pays attention to the lady 'visitor'. He searches his mind, wondering if such a lady has a reputation within Talingarde.
Sense Motive
Knowledge (Local) on Tiadora
Bit confused by the result of my escape artist check- so a 28 is not sufficient to slip the manacles? The mention of 'probing for a weakness to exploit' was just fluff for him seeking a way to use escape artist to slip them.
If 28 is not high enough, Alazandaru will try to surreptiously take 20 on a strength check to 'weaken' them. As he can make DC24, i'd like him to come close to breaking them but not quite do it; basically to put them at the point where he can easily shatter them when the time is right. Stealth check to do this quietly-
- sense motive
Bea pays little notice to the guards and the gnome's departure. Once the extra guards depart again, she tries a new tactic, pulling at the chains to break them from the walls instead of breaking the chains themselves.
- str check
Satisfied with the results, she sits quietly again for now, a sliver of a grin on her face. Later tonight I'll work on this in earnest.
The powerfully built Varisian is stealthily and slowly attempting to break his manacles himself.
Must you be so obvious? Alazandaru hisses at the woman blatantly working on her chains.
Hearing Beatrix once again, the two guards come up to the cage, clubs at the ready. "Listen, we hear you louts make a ruckus again, we'll come in there and what have you." He takes the club and runs it across the bars a couple times, as though attempting to rattle you all.
"Relax good Sargent, she's just trying to get comfortable. No need to get nasty"
Very well. Alazandaru will still put his plan in motion of taking 20 on the strength check quietly though, to essentially leave the restraints all but one good tug from breaking. With a take 20, he can make the DC24.
[/i]The human with the scarred face looks at the kercheif on the floor. He could kick out at a guard bendong to pick it up. Or perhaps it lay on the floor concealing a skeleton key. He considers several other possibilities.
Avrandes watches the guard carefully. Moving his mouth slightly, he mouths quiet words and points awkwardly at each cell mate.
[i]Give them the noise they expect. But use this means to plan our escape. We must know our plan and our resources. And we must know who intends to stay. I will meet this benefactor at the moors before I decide whether to reship.
Tomas shakes his head. “I’m afraid it’s time, miss.”
She looks deep in Tomas’ eyes and says, “Thank you for letting me say good-bye. There’s no need to search my dearest. You are such a good friend for letting me see my dearest one more time.”
“Such a good friend,” Tomas repeats his voice almost mechanical. Then the watch sergeant seems to snap out of it and bows politely. “A pleasure, madam,” She leaves unveiled. Her eyes meet the PCs one last time and she briefly gives them a wicked smile.
“Three days,” telepathically echoes in the PC’s mind. “Don’t disappoint me, dearest”. It takes but a moment to realize the words appeared in your mind in the Infernal tongue. The visitation concluded, the PC is taken back to his cell by a cadre of guards and shackled once more.
- 2 Daggers
- A lantern
- A coil of rope
- A small sack with an arcane rune on it
- A set of tools
- A window
- A stack of gold
- A vials marked with a draconic rune for life
- A symbol of Asmodeus
Bostarg is brought back to the cells and chained back to the wall, Blackerly in lead. "Now you all don't be thinking nothing. I don't the rest of you will get the fortune of such a visitor. Not that it'll matter in three days." The guards all laugh as they begin to leave the room, discussion of tonights poker game ensuing. "Don't worry, I happened to acquire a new bottle of brandy for tonight. And your money will help pay for it."
Morthos just stares at Blackerly as they bring back Bostarg. He stares at him with a look of victory; a look as if he's just landed a deadly strike on an opponent. You do not realize the enemy you have made this day, Blackerly. A pity. I shall make it known to you properly, do not fear. In due time. He thinks to himself, quite calmly.
Morthos raises his head, slowly turning it to the small humanoid, a curious look upon his face. "What is it you offer?"
A sinister smile slowly forms upon Morthos. Glancing toward the prison bars, "I knew the moment was near," he whispers. Quickly turning his attention back to Bostarg, "Then tell me what these 'threads' you speak of that you wish to apply. Regardless, if that is all that is required to escape this injustice, then I accept." Soon. So very soon.
Haruk watches Bostarg be lead back in, then quirks a question eyebrow at his mention of "threads" "You wish to strike some sort of contract? Interesting. I shall hear you out, and if your terms meet both my approval as well as Hell's, perhaps I will accept."
Well met Bostarg... the young Varisian says quietly with a nod of his head. With a small and final grunt of exertion, the strong young man snaps his manacles, quietly standing up and enjoying the freedom of movement he had reclaimed for himself; he must have been quietly working on them since he arrived. Clearly revelling in his success, he makes a small bow and continues just as quietly.
I am Alazandaru Viorec, formerly of Talingarde- and I daresay my negotiating position just became a good deal stronger. Now, what did your friend smuggle into the prison for you? You look strong... for a Gnome. But I daresay you won't have freedom of movement with your own arms without assistance. Did she, perchance, smuggle a pick in? I'd rather spareus both the indignity of me searching you, fine sir, and have us all work together- 'mutual interest', just like you said.
Seeing the criminal Alazandaru walk around freely, Morthos realizes it'll be all for naught unless the gnome's plan works. "I am Morthos. And you will have your agreement if you possess the means to remove us from here."