And so you were captured for your wicked deeds and justly condemned. Perhaps at first, you weren’t sure of your destination. Perhaps you did not know where they sent criminals as wicked and as unrepentant as you. Soon enough you would learn your fate. You were thrown in a wagon, manacled and bound. You were hooded with a sackcloth bag. You were watched and ordered not to speak a word. Any disobedience was punished by a sharp knock to the head or in the gut. You could feel the movement of the wagon, but where were you headed?
Hooded and bound, there was little you could see as you were brought to Branderscar prison. But you’ve always had sharp ears, and you remember hearing quite a bit. There was the cry of a seagull. You must be near the ocean. The wagon came to a stop, and you heard the bark of a dog, which was quickly silenced by a command. That means a well-trained guard dog, and judging from the sounds you heard later, more than one. The wagon began moving again and only a few minutes later did you arrive at your destination. You were dragged inside a building past more than one mocking guard. You went upstairs and heard the heavy *thunk* of a door being unlocked. Only then did they remove your hood and put you in your cell, chaining you with your arms above your head. You could smell the burning brazier in the next room. You were about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison.
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 you have betrayed the great and eternal love of Mitra and his chosen mortal vassals. Condemned, you face at best a life of shackles and servitude in the nearby salt mines. Or perhaps you await the ‘gentle’ ministrations of the inquisitors so that co-conspirators may be revealed and confessions extracted. 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 been chained in a cold cell dressed in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. Manhandled and mistreated, any finery you once possessed is either ruined or long lost. 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 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.
Your old life is over. Hope is a fading memory. Justice will be fairly meted. And who can blame fair Talingarde after what you have done?
Lyr'aan closes her eyes for a moment, taking solace in the welcome darkness. She'd felt despair before, but rarely like this. In fact, the last time her life had felt this hopeless, this was likely the very place that her parents had been dragged off to, taken to meet "Justice".
Now the same self-righteous batards meant to make her suffer for taking the lives of the city's rich and powerful. Cold, tired, battered and bruised, she bided her time. She might not be able to find a way out of this, but by the Dark Lord she'd take as many of them with her as she could.
Chained against the wall as she was, she could feel every bruise, and blow they'd left on her body, the cold flagstones on her bare feet sending a continuous chill through her body that made even sleeping difficult. The one comfort was the darkness...the place where she felt most at home. She would find a way to get to some of them, they were after all just mortals like anyone else. Even in the filthy rags they'd put on her, she could see it in the guard's eyes, desire elbowing aside some of the contempt, hatred making room for hunger...she'd find somebody's weakness, it was only a matter of time.
After an interminable amount of time, a group of six guards, heavily armed and ready for trouble, comes into the cell. They're led by a fat well-dressed sergeant of the watch: Sergeant Tomas Blackerly. This was the man who held the brand that marked you, laughing as your skin burned. Right now, though the sergeant seems a little dazed. “You there! That’s the scum! Get ‘er unshackled. 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 goodbye. Now step lively. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”
Tensing up as she hears the key in the cell door, Lyr'aan braces herself for the worst as half a dozen guards swarm in, led by that disgusting pig of a sergeant. 'It would be a joy to slit his throat'
She keeps her expression blank, not letting on her confusion over the visitor. She studies the sergeant, as he rambles on, trying to reason out who is could be. Madame Welworth? One of the others from the bordello?
Biding her time, she doesn’t resist as they move to unshackle her form the wall to drag her wherever this visitor was waiting. If things shifted in her favor, then they would find out what it meant to have hold of a viper. "Far be it from me to keep her waiting." she says with a smirk.
You're escorted roughly to a meeting room down the hall and shoved into a chair. Waiting for 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. “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. “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. 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.
[b]“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.”
Her message delivered, Tiadora rises and the guards return. Immediately, her demeanor once more changes, and she is again a perfect picture of grief. “No, I can’t bear to leave you!” She gives you a kiss on the cheek. The kiss is ice-cold and feels somehow alien and inhuman. 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 goodbye. There’s no need to search my dearest. You are such a good friend for letting me see my dearest one more time.” She leaves unveiled. Her eyes meet yours one last time, and she briefly gives you a wicked smile. “Three days,” telepathically echoes in your mind. “Don’t disappoint me, dearest.” The visitation concluded, you are taken back to your cell by a cadre of guards and shackled once more.
Loot
Veil of Useful Items
The entire trip back to her cell, Lyr'aan's mind was racing. Some mysterious benefactor was acting through that woman, Tiadora, and wanted to meet her...probably obtain her services. Thinking back to Tiadora, gave her a slight chill, she was gorgeous yes, but..alien somehow. Not that it mattered at the moment.
Waiting a while after she was re-shackled for activity outside her cell to die down, she inspects the veil, eyes widening at the wealth of equipment available to her. She had to get out of her cell, but first, the damned manacles.
Waiting until the sun begins to set, she listens our for any unexpected activity, before removing the lockpicks, from the cloth, working meticulously to free herself from the manacles.
The manacles unlock with a faint *click*. You don't hear anything outside the cell door, but you have to assume there's at least one guard posted.
Working to get her feet free, Lyr'aan extracts the symbol of Asmodeus from the veil, taking comfort from the feeling of it settling in her palm. Closing her hand around it and slipping a dagger into the palm if the other hand, she arranges herself back into the shackles, before beginning to make urgent coughing and choking sounds, as if dying in her cell.
After a minute or so, your cell door unlocks, and a pair of guards comes in to investigate. One cautiously approaches you; the other waits by the door. You see a signal horn clasped at his belt.
As the first guard stride into the room, walking over to her, Lyr'aan keeps up the ruse of her coughing, while keeping her focus on the other guard, with the horn on his belt. Silently invoking the power of the unholy symbol in her hand, she snuffs the wan light source nearby, plugging the room in darkness.
The door guard grumbles as the light fades. "Damn it, wick's gone bad. Keep an eye on 'er, I'll fix it." You see him turn and walk toward the lantern. His companion fumbles for you. "No funny business, now."
As the guard fumbles around while issuing his gruff warning, Lyr'aan waits a few moments, studying his movements before striking, uttering a prayer to The Dark one in aid of her escape, as her hand, enshrouded in shadow, reaches out to grasp his face.
she yells, for the benefit of the other guard if still within earshot.
"Hey! She's trying magic s%#$!" The guard resists your spell and responds with a wild swing of his cudgel. You easily evade the clumsy blow, as he lacks darkvision and can barely see you.
With only seconds to act before her window of opportunity closes, Lyr'aan brings har palmed dagger slamming into the guard's chest with expert precision, twisting the blade and withdrawing it before dashing across the room and into the hall after the other guard.
The guard collapses as you rush toward the other. Hearing your approach, he swings his cudgel in a wide arc, but dodging it is a simple matter. He's fumbling for the signal horn at his belt, though, so your window of opportunity is closing fast.
Seeing the fool fumbling for the signal horn, the dark huntress focuses her malign gifts, sending a roiling wave of dark energy washing out in every direction, hungry to snuff out life, the same way she did light. She stays close, hoping to prevent him form getting the horn to his mouth.
"If you give up now, I'll let you live. Only warning."
The guard groans in pain as your energy burns his flesh, but he remains steadfast. "I will never surrender to evil, foul harlot!"
His clumsy blows are easily evaded, however.
Channeling again, Lyr'aan taunts him further, hoping to distract from the signal horn. "You wouldn't even know what to do with me if I surrendered right now." she sneers.
The guard collapses as your energy drains his strength.
Taking a moment to catch her breath, Lyr'aan dreads the body back to her cell, picking up his weapons and taking them in, closing the door behind her. She quickly strips both corpses, studying them both before donning the uniform not stained with blood, and going through their belongings.
Potential Loot
Chain Shirt x2
Heavy Steel Shield x2
Longsword x2
Sap x2
Longbow x2
Arrows x40
Small key x2
Having little use for most of the weapons, she quickly stops out of the tattered rags, changing into the clothing of one of the guards, but stacking the armor, shields and long swords against the wall, and belting on one of the saps. Taking both sets of keys, she stealthily makes her way down the hallway, starting in the direction opposite the one the guard was headed in.
The other cells are unlocked and empty. Except for one, that is. Chained against the wall is an ogre.
Noticing the ogre, the dark huntress considers her options. While she stood a better chance of escaping through stealth by herself, the idea of the damage an armed rampaging ogre could do, and the distraction it would cause was very appealing. Smiling to herself she unlocks the creature's cell, waiting for any signs of life.
The ogre appears to be injured but not seriously. He eyes you appraisingly when you open the door. "You don't look like one o' the little 'uns who usually checks on me. You be makin' a spot o' trouble?"
Lyr'aan smiles, pleased to find that the ogre seemed quite a bit smarter than most of his kind had a reputation for. "Definitely. I plan to walk out of here, but I mean to raise all kinds of hell first. Sound like fun?" she asks, entering the cell.
The ogre laughs heartily. "Raisin' hell's the best kind o' fun. Be good to pay back the punies who chained up Grumblejack."
"Well then, let's get you off that wall shall we?" Lyr'aan says, unlocking the ogre's miracles. "There are weapons and armor in that other cell, where they were keeping me." she says, indicating her former cell. " Though the armor probably isn't going to fit."
Grumblejack grabs one of the longswords. "Little dagger will work until Grumblejack finds his stuff."
17 - Guardroom
This is a small guardroom and landing for stairs leading down to the first floor. The door to the east leads to the interrogation chamber where you met Tiadora. The fireplace in the south wall is almost comically large and can probably be climbed with minimal difficulty. However, there's a fire burning below. It seems someone's doing a spot of cooking downstairs.
"Okay, I'm going to make myself look like one of those fools, and tell them that, I tried to escape, but they handled it. Wait outside the door. If one of them comes out, kill them. If you hear screams, cries of pain or fighting, come through that door and start killing. Remember this face okay?" Lyr'aan says before calling on her innate ability to disguise her features, becoming a bruised, somewhat beaten up version of the second guard.
Once she has the ogre's agreement, and silently thanking the Dark that he seemed smarter than she'd expected, she opens the door to the guardroom stumbling in. "Unnhh...pale harlot tried to escape...got 'er handled but...she's bein' taught a lesson.....damn my head hurts" (she) says moving to sit near the stairs down to the next level.
The guardroom is empty. For a maximum-security prison, things seem surprisingly lax. Or perhaps everyone's waiting downstairs....
Quickly searching the guardroom for anything of use, she makes her way slowly down the stairs, wary of any activity.
You cautiously descend the stairs, arriving on the ground floor landing. Listening at the door, you can hear guards in the next room.
Running back up to let Grimjack in, and leading him down the stairs, she lays out the same plan, before opening the door and stumbling through, still in the guise of the guard.
The guards look confused. "What happened? Where's Roger?"
"Unnhh...pale harlot tried to escape...got 'er handled but...he's teaching her a lesson.....damn my head hurts"
The guard looks angry. "Damn, I knew she was a tricky one. Thanks for the warning; need a shift swap? Roger'll need backup, but it looks like you're wantin' a break."
"Yeah, I could use the break, an' somebody should prob'ly keep 'I'm from gettin' carried away."
"No problem," the one guard says as he walks past you toward the stairs. A few seconds later, you hear, "What the -" and the *thwack* of fist hitting face.
Taking advantage of the sudden surprise and confusion, Lyr'aan, in her guise as the guard, takes a step forward, her dagger lashing out at her baffled "co-worker".
You narrowly miss the guard, and he yells in surprise. "Dafuq is going on?!?"
Lyr'aan moves like a shadow, studying the guard for a few seconds and shifting her body first in one direction, then the next before striking out at the confused guard, hoping to silence him.
Your blade cuts deep, but not enough to slay. The guard is quick to draw his sword and strike back.
Easily stepping out of the path of the guard's clumsy attack, Lyr'aan focuses, calling forth the darkness to extinguish the nearest light.
Now unable to see, the guard swings blindly at you.
And doesn't even come close to connecting.
Behind you, you hear the loud clatter of armor hitting the ground.
Grinning to herself, Lyr'aan steps forward, preparing to land a decisive strike, only to be thwarted by the guard's blind flailing.
The guard catches a glimpse of you in the darkness and stabs in your direction.
Dodging the surprisingly accurate attack by the narrowest of margins, Lyr'aan scores a cut on the guard's sword arm in reply, fighting in total silence.