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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 Mitra and his chosen mortal vassals.
Condemned, you await the “gentle” ministrations of the inquisitors so that co-conspirators may be revealed and confessions extracted. Ultimately, you will all face the final judgement: three days, the executioner arrives and the axe falls or the pyre will be lit.
Through fire or steel, your crimes will be answered.
Any finery you once possessed is either ruined or long lost. No special treatment or considerations are given to any prisoner, regardless of race or gender. 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 confined, all you can do now is wait for the executioner.
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?
"Welcome back Karactus. The master awaits you...
Oh, and don't forget the others? The master does not handle disappointment well..."
Seth looks around his new cell and flexes his restraints. They were keeping him weakened. He tried to access his devilishly granted power but all he felt was another cell in his mind, more bars closing around him weakening him.
His thoughts suddenly turned to Naamah. Did she escape? She must have. When he was caught he sensed her hide. Where was she now...
"Grrrr
His body was drained of strength. His form was trapped in one mortal-seeming shape. His eyes and skin stung from the harsh light of day. He was bound in eight different places with chains strong as man could forge. And, of course, his heart no longer beat.
But while his shell was bound and his power stripped away, his fury could not be restrained. Even knowing it was useless, the pale-skinned dwarf struggled against his captivity with the fervor of a thing gone mad.
In the clink for heinous crimes, the mortal coil heaved off quite a while ago, and even more or less turning himself in wasn't enough to keep Bognus down. He'd be damned if...well. He'd be more damned if he was just gonna sit here and take it. Nobody ever accused ol' Bluebeard of being a quitter. Brutality, thievery, drunkenness, and most recently heresy and murder, sure; but not quitting.
"Ye think this is gonna stop me?" he roared. "Ye'll have ta try- erf- harder if ye (damn tha's a lot o' chain) think holdin' me is gonna be (bloody hells, beard's caught) this easy!"
As he stood a seared brand, glowing like an ember, tore open the skin of the old man's chest.
Forsaken.
Markadian's judgement.
The light through the window dimmed and warped, casting the shadows of gnarled trees that were not there throughout the room. Sound muted and the air smelled of damp, old earth.
Behind the old man flared the shadow, massive and horned. A rip ran through it in the shape of the same brand, as though the light itself passed right through the old man's body. A thorny lash wove back and forth as the shadow paced like a hungry wolf. Where the shadow lash brushed across the bed and the floor it scratched deep gouges in the wood and stone.
The shadow was bound to this pathetic mortal husk, leashed like a dog, and was furious. The old man gripped the bed and cracked it beneath his bony fingers. He looked the priestess over with wolfen eyes.
"The bargain is struck. Thy master will have his pawns."
Ulmah awakens and looks around, then sighs. "They really don't like their loved ones being turned into beautiful creatures of the night, do they? What a pity."
She makes no attempt at struggling against her restraints, but instead looks for something with which to disable or destroy them.
First, the labored breathing. Calm down..., she told herself, letting her fingertips slide up the slides of the device latched around her neck, getting a rough idea of the outline and desperately searching for whatever locks it shut.
Next comes the panic. Even if I found out the way they secured it...I could never break it off.... He hands slip as best as they could beneath the edges of the mask, pulling and tugging with all her might, but to no avail.
Finally....screams of terror. Can anyone even hear me! I can't die here!.
What had she done to deserve this fate? The slaves? They weren't even human, they were leeches of society. Her service was a victimless crime as far as she was concerned. The lithe, pale skinned young woman settled herself on the cold stone floor, calming herself down enough to muffle her screams, and silently wept.
Karactus closes his eyes, slowly forming a mental picture of Branderscar as a jig-saw puzzle: each bird he links with exposing more and more of this so-called dungeons secrets. Within a few moments, as the outlines finish, Karactus realizes he knows this place. Once, long before he was imprisoned in the feeble body he resides in, this place was Castle Branding, an important coastal castle. The prison sits on a smoothed over stone pillar protruding from the sea, connected to the mainland by an extensive network of bridges and pillars. One the island-side edge of the bridge is a sprawling, three story gatehouse. Peering in with his new friends, Karactus discovers a dozen guards scattered between murder holes on the top floors, and behind walls with arrow slits on the base level. Most of the guards are protected by full-plate, but some wear lighter armor such as chain shirts. Each is equipped with a bow, but their melee weapons vary in size and type. The gatehouse itself is connected on its ends with a watchwall that extends around the entire perimeter of the island. Karactus can count at least eight guards patrolling the wall at a time, with one additional soldier sitting stationary at each of the six towers equally distanced from each other. Along the back of the wall (the opposite side of the gatehouse), is another tower taller than the others, four stories in total. Through a window on the third floor, Karactus can see an impressive library, but the other windows have been bricked shut. Within the boundaries of the watch wall lay a well-tended courtyard, with two cages (one on each side of the gatehouse entrance) containing three dogs apiece. A massive fortress is erected in the center of the courtyard, possibly a modification of the previous castle that once sat here. The structure if three stories tall, with no windows at all, save a few skylights on the roof. Using his Jungle Mind to judge distances between animals that he links with, Karactus can easily tell he is at the top of this structure.
EDIT:
The old man looked around the room, sneering at the opulence of the shrine he had been a part of.
"Mitrans. Such bedighted trumpery."
He placed a hand on the lavish headboard. The brand of the forsaken cracked through the symbol of Mitra. From it crawled roots and tendrils of crawling plants that wove into the bed and cracked the wood and stone. Vines crawled up the walls and along the ceiling, sprouting leaves that blocked the skylight and cast more shadows over everything.
The finery was ruined. The bed looked like it had been savaged by a beast. The fine rug was all but destroyed by a carpet of moss, and the walls were cracked and stained by the vines that now clung to them. Nature had come and reclaimed this space from Mitra and his pathetic worshipers. In the midst of it all, the symbol of the Forsaken burned and pulsed like a heartbeat.
Finally, the old man focused on the priestess who had been washing him.
"Speak ye. There is more to say, and I would hear it."
Seth watched the 'woman' as she fought with her metal capsule. A smile crept onto his lips as he wondered why they had thought fit to adorn her so. Revealing his presence he addressed her, "Woman. Cease your useless struggle. If you want escape, save your strength for the right moment."
Bognus grinned a terrible fanged grin up at the soldiers, using his freed hand to show them what he thought of their swords. "Sure, lads, jest see what good those stickers'll do ye if ye come close enough ta use 'em."
His outward bravado never wavered, but privately, he calmed the battle rage and set his mind to working. He eyed the single broken shackle, and the many more that remained, some thicker yet than the one he'd broken. He might shatter them all given a little time, but whatever power was keeping him from mustering his full strength would almost certainly keep him from effectively fighting back when the guards came to do something about it as well.
Blast. Waiting, then. He'd never been good at waiting. Still...it seemed easier, now, than when he'd been mortal. Somehow the lack of breath or a heartbeat made it easier to just let time slip by. He thought about that for a moment or three. Prison or not, this was the first time he'd had to himself to consider his new condition without Vesher Idan dominating his every thought.
Undeath was odd. Not...unpleasant...but definitely odd. For all the vitriol he was showing the guards, it seemed like he was just doing it out of habit - he wasn't really feeling the anger he felt sure he should be. And the magical sunlight felt like he was being slowly roasted high over a spit. But it wasn't all bad; the gnawing pit in his heart he'd felt ever since discovering the deaths of his clan and family was simply gone. He couldn't muster any kind of emotion over it at all, really - they'd only been meat, after all. And he didn't miss the letdown after a good bout of raging, that was for certain; no breath meant not having to gasp for it.
Alright. He could get used to this. If he could figure out how to get out of the blasted prison Vesher had made him give himself up to, anyway. A-ha, there was some of the old fire. Compassion and sorrow might be missing from his vampiric heart, but hate...hate was as strong as ever.
While all this ran through his mind, he kept his malicious smile on for the guards' benefit.
Oh yeah. Idan'll die, once and fer all...but if I'm gonna get ta him, first we'll have ta do fer these. Bide yer time, Bluebeard m'lad...yer moment'll come.
Deep, ragged breaths subside, leading to a guise of calmness. Nuandis was still terrified; fear was an emotion she was not accustomed to dealing with.
Collecting herself enough to speak, she mumbles, "Right moment? Is that after they've cut my head off?, though probably inaudibly because of the mask.
"Nonsense," the other replied. "Look at em, he ain't goin anywhere, n if he starts makin a noise like that again, I'll just come in ere and run him through. No foggin' out to find his coffin if we kill him in this room and I'm just itchin for an excuse to lay down this bloodsucker." The obviously more confident guard continues to rant as he exits, taking his shaken friend with him and closing the only door in the room behind them.
Closing his eyes, Karactus begins jumping from one vessel to another, slowly putting together a mental map of the prison like a jigsaw puzzle. As the pieces fall into place, Karactus makes a number of discoveries:
1. Karactus knows this place, but not as "Branderscar." Long before his mortal imprisonment, he knew this place as Palace Branding, an important (and only) coastal castle.
2. Karactus is on a large pillar of stone protruding from the sea and connected to the mainland by a extensive bridge. On the island-pillar side of the bridge is a three-story gatehouse. Peering through the windows best he can, he discovers over a dozen highly decorated and heavily armed guards in various defensive positions; covering murder holes in the upper floors, manning arrow slits in the base level, and simply standing at attention on the entrances and exits. Their protective gear varies: some are so heavily armored you can't even see their flesh, and some are dressed in robes, suggesting a variety in their skillsets. Karactus manages to spot one low ranking officer in the gatehouse.
From the gatehouse, a tall watch-wall encircles the entire island, with six towers placed equidistant around the perimeter. Five of these are fairly small, and look to serve only as access to and from the wall, with an open platform on the top. The six, located opposite the gatehouse, is six stories. Managing to peer through the third story window, Karactus finds a well-kept and opulent library.
Confined by the watch-wall is a sprawling courtyard, equipped with a mediocre garden, a wood platform (presumably for executions), and a cage containing a few dogs built up against the gatehouse. In the center of the courtyard stands a four-story fortress, the modified remnant of the old castle. All of the windows have been bricked over, save the small skylights on the roof. Using the bird positions to calculate his own, Karactus could easily deduce he was on the top floor.
3. While using Jungle Mind, Karactus will observe that he is not able to contact wildlife up to the full range of his spell.
"But dearest," the old woman says, smiling wickedly, "you just look so adorable as a Mitran slave."
"Right to the point though, aren't we? I like that." The woman stands upright, arching her back in a manner that would be painful for a woman of her age. Slowly backing away, she continues to address Karactus as she drops her kerchief. "No contract has been made with the others...four in total. Some of them will need convincing..." she pauses, looking down at the kerchief. [/b]"Once out, travel due west across the moors until you find an old manorhouse with a single lantern burning in the bottom left window."[/b] After reaching a comfortable distance, she turns around, going down the stairwell at the edge of the hall.
Ulmah resigns herself to waiting for someone to come get her... she knows she can't possibly break the chains without her magical abilities.
Smoothing over whatever tattered rags they left her in, Nuandis slowly lays down on the floor and places her forearm flat against the cold stone, alleviating the sting of her new brand.
An opportune moment...., she thought.
...why wait for one...when I can make my own.
Closing her eyes, she thought of Daveryn. The sun rising over the sea and setting over the mountains, the cool ocean breeze that swept through the streets, and the sound of the tides crashing against the cliffs on the east wall. She thought about how, when she escaped, she'd be the only one left alive to enjoy those things. Death here was not an option, there was work to be done.
Taking a long deep breath, she finally collects herself. Rolling over on her side, she begins to violently shake and convulse her body, feigning a seizure and even going so far as to smash her mask on the stone floor.
Karactus looked down at the kerchief. Among his people, so very long ago, such an invitation before a man would have been a promise, or even a direct invitation for something carnal. Sadly, there were some things this old body could not do, and the old woman's body was not to his liking. Neither of them were what they seemed though. He chuckled and picked up the delicate cloth and followed her to the stairwell.
"Thy offer is intriguing. I may accept it in the future when we both wear more pleasing forms. For now, there is a task that weighs."
"Where are the others kept?"
"S**t...John, if she dies on our shift we're never going to hear the end of it from Richter. Did you put the damn mask on too tight!?"
The other quickly unlocks the mask and cradles her head until she subsides.
"No it's not too tight! She probably snuck some poison in! Get her down to the priest, quickly! Make sure you put her in the interrogation room!
One of the man scoops Nuandis up in his arms, rushing her out into her hallway.
Karactus smiled, picking the threads to unravel the magic binding the objects inside.
Thorn had recovered his Lash. He rolled it in his hands. He knew it well. There was not another weapon like it in the world. It began to move on it's own, it's snapping coils matching up with the one his otherworldly shadow held. It coiled up his arm like it had missed him.
He pulled on his dark weave breaches and slipped the ring on his finger, altering his form to match the uniforms of the guards he'd seen outside. Then he walked down the staircase and out into the ruined and rebuilt Castle Branding.
Nuandis continues to feign unconsciousness, letting her arms and legs sit limp over the guard arms. At least she didn't have to walk around anymore...
She does attempt to peek around after being taken out of the room, though.
With the guards out of the room, Bognus let his grin fall and his face fell into a grim mask of concentration. He flexed his free hand. Slowly, so as not to cause the chains to clink, he pulled again, this time without his full rage behind it, testing its limits. The morons definitely needed their necks snapped, but he couldn't risk the guards returning, not yet.
So, he took his time. Taking the chains to their outer limit, he set his weight against them as best he could and began to apply pressure. He was still inexperienced with undeath, truly, but one of the few things he could remember from his time as Idan's thrall was that the dead didn't tire. He could sit here all day with his arms and legs straining and the only thing that would tire him was boredom. The second he thought he could get away with it, he would heave again, perhaps getting free enough to apply some real leverage - and maybe weaken whatever cursed magic was keeping him so blasted weak.
"Alright vermin, you got one chance to tell it honestly. Did she slip some poison in ere to off herself? Did you do it? Best give me some answers before I call up the inquisitors....
Seth grunts slightly then looks closer at the guard, studying his face. He moves to the end of his chains, "Look at you playing detective. Your inquisitors don't scare me. Do you even know who I am and what I did to some of your very own inquisitors? You are the vermin here. Scurry along."
Nuandis opens her eyes and starts forming a mental image of statues. All within her head, these tall, stout, stern, marble-kissed creations slowly shape into the form of the guards near her, turning her gaze on the man carrying her as she completes her mental ritual.
The guard who had, apparently, been somewhere he wasn't supposed to be ignored the man speaking to him, instead looking at the girl.
He didn't make a gesture or a sound. He simply kept walking, past the pair of guards. His very presence felt like a cold claw gripping the guards by their hearts and minds. With each step the floor beneath him collapsed and spread a fissure behind him that quickly became a chasam the whole width of the hallway. Thorny vines reached out of the yawning pit and dragged the hapless guards downward. The unspeaking guard did not fall. He walked across the air itself.
The shadows behind him crawled forward in a rush, like spreading vines on the walls, reaching toward the last guard.
Guard 1
Guard 2
Guard 3 (Carrying Nuandis)
Guards 1-3
Seth laughs as the guard hits him, "Even if they do. Execute me in the end. I promise you. You will die first." If the guard keeps hitting him he shouts out, mocking him. "Is that all you've got? Weak as piss."
Nuandis could feel something closing on her, but whatever it was made no sound at all.
"Ye need not fear me. To thee, I am providence." a voice like the rumble of distant thunder said.
Then something scraped across the front of her mask. It cracked and rusted away to brittle metal and dust.
There it was, that old familiar feeling:
Power
Slithering from the grip of the guard who so foolishly carried her out of the chamber, she found her footing and leisurely turned about, examining her surroundings and her new toys. Her teeth gnashed and grated against her bottom lip, her hand traversed upwards, meeting her chin, then slender digits sliding down her own framework, scratching over the rough fibers of her shirt all the way down to her stomach. Her sudden change in circumstances was titillating...even arousing. One tiny footstep was followed by another and then, without a word, both parted from the ground, leaving her floating towards the oddity before her. Barely over five feet tall, she maintained a low hover; flying higher and disrupting her normal perspective always did bother her. Long white hair, littered with black streaks cascaded over her shoulders, coming parallel with the top of her bosom. She was lithe, agile, and perky; easily mistaken for a teenager. Gazing up at the guard clearly not a guard with her unworldly, curious emerald eyes, she extended her hand to his shoulder, circling him as her fingertips traced his figure. Leaning in against his neck, she inhaled deeply, wondering what fear might smell like.
"Providence you say?" she retorted with a coy smile, "Sent by the Gods? Then what now if I pray you slaughter these men who dare lay hands upon me?"
"Two gods. One who offered. Another who accepted. Thy prayer is among the numbers in the contract."
A black vine covered in wicked thorns unwound from his arm and crawled around the motionless guard's neck to almost casually throttle him as the guard who was not a guard spoke.
"The Gods never paid me much mind, I just learned to take what I wanted. But if this is what praying is like..."
Keeping her gaze on the standing guard previously carrying her, she playfully extends her hand to him, curling her finger in motion for him to approach.
A peaceful hall turned into a portrait of death within a few brief seconds.
Two guards lay dead on the floor, coating it with crimson hue.
The third heeds Nuandis's orders and slowly walks towards Karactus, his brow soaked with sweat in anticipation of his demise.
Seth grunt from the repeated blows at his weakened state but grins at the guard. Then he spits out a mixture of saliva and blood at the guard. "Perhaps you should pay more attention to your job. Do you hear that out there?"
The lash snapped out hungrily and took off the last guard's head.
"Prayers are thy reward, as worship is thy offering. It is a bargain of another sort."
The not-guard took one of the bows and a quiver from the dead and wound the three guards cloaks together in his hand, dragging them as if they were nothing.
"There are others with that mark." he said gesturing to her arm. "They too are my charge. We must find them before we make exodus."
Ulmah tries to listen closely for any excitement that might be happening, but otherwise continues waiting.
[b]"A bargain I'm not looking to make, but it looks like an exception can be made this time. You seem to operating with more information than I have, so I'll follow your lead until we're out of here...then we'll talk."[b]
Nuandis takes a moment, reciting a few incantations in her head to clear her of the filth clinging to her rags. She remains a few feet behind Karactus, making sure not to step in any blood from the trail of dead guards.
A door swings wildly open, revealing a guard rushing out with the intent of slaughtering whatever dared roam the hallways of Branderscar impermissibly.
A glimpse of the carnage before him hastily changed his demeanor. Catching sight of Nuandis and Karactus he tightly grips his sword with trembling hands, backing into the room from where he came.
"W-wait! We can talk about this! Surely I can be of use!!", the inept guard begged for his life.