Welcome to Phase Three of the Recruitment Process. Good Luck To Everyone.
Deep in the beating heart of Talingarde, twelve souls who once attempted to cast themselves adrift away from the foul stench of the Mitran shore and who each lashed out at the society they hated, have now been pulled back by the tides of Fate and washed back to shore and ensnared. This time however, Talingarde will have its revenge on these ‘Forsaken’. Convicted by the authorities and soon to be sentenced, these warriors and casters now found themselves shacked in a holding cell in the infamous courthouse located in the center of Taligarde's capital city of Matharyn. Each one waiting to go before the judge and be publicly sentenced for their crimes. You can see your fellow prisoners in the cage with you but you can not see into the courtroom as the cell is kept behind a wall, but you can hear everything that is going on.
Who will be your judge? Who will be in the courtroom when you are called to appear? Friends? Family? Enemies? Lovers? Associates? What mark will you leave on this world? The beginning of the end, and it starts now!
Each of you have been put on trial and found guilty of your crimes in the respective districts, villages or provinces where your crimes were committed. If you committed crimes in multiple locations then you were tried for the most grievous of your crimes and the lesser charges were dropped in effort to give you a speedy and just trial. At least that is what you were told, in reality most major crimes carried the death penalty anyway and however they might try you could not die twice or work two lifetimes in the mines. So if it meant that the kingdom could save a little time and coin by giving you a speedy trial then so be it. However you all received a fair trial, at least to the best ability that the courts could offer, you were appointed council if you could not afford council and each of you lost your case in turn. Some cases took longer than others but in the end all of you failed at your defense. You were all then kept locked up for a few days awaiting sentencing by the local magistrate or judge when you were informed that you would be transferred to the capital city of Matharyn to be sentenced by the Royal Court for your crime. Which by the way is rather highly unusual of an event unless you were among the most wanted criminals in all of Talingarde.
You were brought by horse and a prisoner transport wagon (basically a flatbed wagon with a iron cage bolted on) from your respective districts, villages and provinces. You were paraded along your journey more like you were a prop in a circus freak show than anything else. Lower class villagers and inhabitants would throw spoiled vegetables and eggs that had gone bad and some would even spit upon you as you passed, the upper nobility would just turn up their nose and look the other way in disgust. After a few days you finally arrived at the capital city of Matharyn with its 105,000 inhabitants. The crowded port city bearing the best and worst that Talingarde had to offer. It's high arched buildings, beautiful architecture and domed structures was a great accomplishment for any nation or people. It's massive ports and dirty shipyards where wages were poor at best and disease often crept in and took many lives each year were signs that the nation despite how large was nothing more than a remote island in the middle of the Steaming Sea and relied on these ports to trade with the rest of Golarion..
Once you were inside the capital city then the wagon was stopped and you had a bag roughly placed over your head and then you were driven to an unknown location, once there you were placed in a dirty dungeon cell and your hood removed and shackled to the wall both in leg irons as well as manacles. The next morning you were again hooded removed and loaded on the wagon but this time by the sounds reaching your ears you were not alone, other prisoners were aboard the wagon with you. The wagon was driven to another yet unknown location but your senses told you that it was just before dawn, by both the light making its way through the hood and by the sounds around you and the smell of the crisp damp morning air, likely something you would probably not get to smell much longer, you quite enjoyed it actually and if but for a second your mind drifted elsewhere.
Once at your final destination you were again removed from the wagon and taken inside along with your fellow prisoners, you were still hooded and shackled in both manacles and leg irons which made the walking even more difficult. As you traversed inside of the building that you were brought into you could almost swear you smelled the scent of early morning breakfast as you were ushered by prodding clubs through the building. Eggs, bacon, muffins you smelled it all, oh how you salivated, you had eaten nothing but moldy bread and warm water for over a week. A few moments later you were passing through multiple doors and you had a funny sensation as if you had passed through some kind of invisible barrier. The hair on your neck stood up and your skin was all tingly as if the air was electrically charged. You wondered for a moment if this was the feeling that you had read about in ghost stories when you were a child. However like the smell of the food the sensation soon faded as you arrived, or at least stopped for the moment.
You and the other prisoners with you were all now loaded into a cell restrained to the bars with your hands in manacles above your heads and leg irons securing your feet. You could slide up and down the cage bars to either acquire an awkward sitting position with your hands above your head or you could stand. Once secured your hoods were removed and you found yourself and other prisoners around you shackled in the cell. This wasn't a permanent fixed cell like the ones you had been in before, this one seemed to be a portable one where the walls floor and ceiling joined together with great locking rods for assembly and dis-assembly. It also was made from Adamantine and had strange symbols that seemed to be stamped into the bars. You also noticed right away that you were obviously not in any courtroom you had ever been in or seen, courthouses were utilitarian in design, often dirty and crowded, often using more space than they had available and always with a cold drab design and feel about them. As you looked around you were in some kind of hall off of another larger room that you currently could not see into from your present position. Also the intricate stonework and the grand arches told you immediately that this was no public utilitarian structure but something far more grand. The hall was carpeted with a thick plush crimson rug and well lit by elaborate lanterns. The stonework painted in a marvelous pattern and an illustrious mural on the domed ceiling. The hall had multiple plush padded benches on which the six guards that had brought you here now sat. The hall was flanked on either side by heavily armored knights, both knights bearing a glorious eagle symbol upon their breastplates and shields. Knights of Alerion, there were no doubts. The guards seated on the benches wore the crest of the House Darius. The guards chatted small talk amongst themselves but the knights stood at attention and did not move an inch. Almost like they were statues rather than real living beings, except the blinking of the eyes and moisture upon the lips told the tale of a living being even if their movements did not.
You guessed that now you would play the waiting game before you found out why you were brought to this place.....
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On one side of the cell stands a tall thin woman with pale blonde, almost white, hair. The hair, clearly once well kept is now askew and matted from a lack of care. Telltale signs of exquisite makeup remain, although most has long since been wiped or worn off. When the woman breathes, her breath is haggard, as though she suffers from an illness or cold. However, despite the sound of ill health, she stands tall, her back straight and her head held high as though in defiance of those who would seek to destroy her morale.
When the guards are not watching, a sickly laugh arises and then she speaks quietly as though to herself:
So, . . . . . . this is the famed Royal Court. I had hoped to see it one day. But never expected it to be from this side.
Hecate is still in shock. So much has happened since her arrest and all of it has been a blur. She is slowly becoming aware of just how much she is in.
The girl shivers, pulling her dressing gown more tightly around her. At least Sir Balin whatever-his-name was had the decency not to parade her in her night-shift following her arrest the other night (or was it morning? They didn't tell her what time it was when they burst into her room). Shame about the lack of shoes, though. She does her best to keep her bare feet off the floor.
Apart from her night-clothes, the other immediate distinguishing feature is a huge bruise on most of the left side of her face – another indignity from her arrest; the mottled yellow and purple stages are starting to show.
She glances around at the others in the room, aware that she looks distinctly out of place (although 21, she appears younger). Some of them look dangerous, some of them are clearly not human, or at least not entirely human. She wonders what brought them here. Hopes they aren't angry. Or hungry. At least, please Asmodeus don't let them take it out on her... Unthinking, she pulls her fingers through her hair, counting silently as she tries to straighten it: ... 33, 34, 35, 36, 37. Then her other hand, same thing. Same number of times. Then agai-
Enough. Stop. You're panicking. Hecate swallows, hard, and forces herself to meet the gaze of the person sitting opposite her. ”H-how long do you think we'll be kept here? It's just – I've got my exams next week and they took my revision notes...” In fact, they took everything: notes, spellbook, components.... Her voice trails off. It occurs to her that the exams – even, expulsion from the Academy – are very much the least of her worries right now. She is desperately hoping to be consoled on this point.
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The tall ill woman coughs again and then lets out a hacking gurgling laugh at the young woman's question:
Exams? Exams? This is the Royal Court. Royal because the King himself mets out the justice. Or at least what he considers justice. Some of us might gain a pardon, although it is rare. Others may lose their heads in here. Either way, the only law of consequence in that room is the King's word.
The woman breaks down into a hacking cough which ends in her spitting some phlegm to the floor.
So, if you want to take your exams, you better put on a pretty smile for the King.
"I do not believe we will be too long now," the man opposite the young-looking girl offers as he glances sideways at the woman coughing close by. His voice is soft, his tone conversational and perhaps even friendly. There is a faint smile on his face, partially obscured by raven black hair falling down his face, dirty and matted with mud and worse. At least, unlike her, he is fully dressed, even if his clothes and boots have certainly seen better days. "Please forgive the way I must look, if not the way I must certainly smell," he continues, shaking his head and managing to chase away some of the errant strands, thus allowing the apparently frightened girl a better look at his features, his golden eyes prevalent among them.
"Unfortunately, dear lady," he says then, the smile growing fainter still, "even so, I do not believe you will manage to participate in these exams you mention, however brief our time here."
He looks around, taking note of the rest of his cellmates one by one with more than a little interest. A varied gathering, to be sure, and most, if not all them, not in a much better shape than he is. 'At least I will probably not be bored, waiting in here,' he ponders, the thought amusing him, if only a little. He takes a deep breath, letting out a soft sigh at the end of it.
"Care to tell me a little more about them though? If nothing else, a little conversation may at least distract us somewhat from our situation, such as it is." Satisfied with looking at the others, at least for now, he turns back to the anxious girl.
Etna sits, or at least tries to, her eyes still closed. Her hair, once a bright orange, now have streaks of cinder-gray all over.
She opens her eyes.
It was a weird sensation, to be sure. Since they discovered her exploits, captured her and tried her, it was as if she was living in a daze.
It feels like waking up after a dream, a nine-year long dream...They probably could tell, because I didn't say a single thing during the trials...
She blinks once.
Not that it would have helped in any way: they are so convinced what they are doing is right that the fact that I didn't broke a single law wouldn't even faze them...
She blinks twice.
Well at least I'm in good company...Or at least interesting company
The first to catch her attention is a tall, blonde woman. "Oh, the royal court is quite a nice place. From the other side at least: I think I passed here to consign some paperwork, once." Etna says to the woman, chuckling slightly.
But the most interesting of the lot is surely the teen girl, Etna thought.
What could a girl so young have done to be here? It's quite a feat, to be sent to the Royal Court at, what, 18 years of age? Now that I think about it, she has the same age that I had when father was murd-
"Are you afraid, little one?" Etna says to Hecate, her bright yellow eyes fixed on the young girl.
Hecate blinks in surprise - in her shock, she hadn't realised exactly where they all are. ”Royal Court?! But that's – that's for criminals, isn't it? All I did was study – ok, so I forged a couple of signatures to get the books – oh and I learned a forbidden language, or at least I think it's forbidden, and yes I set up a shrine to Asmodeus in my dorm room;” Hecate's tone is a mixture of defensive but proud: none of it was easy and she did it without help. “But are they really going to punish me for seeking knowledge? That's what being a student is about, isn't it?!”
Hecate looks at the dark-haired, lank man on one side and the strange, flame-haired woman on the other. Worried she's become the focus of attention, she clams up tries to turn the questions back: "What brought you here?"
"Asmodeus?" Etna tilts his head, an interrogative expression on her face "What's an 'Asmodeus'? I think I read that name in an old record or two, but I never figured out what it is." the ifriit asks with genuine curiosity.
"As to why I'm here..." Etna will say, moving his head to show one of the little black horns under her hair "...I'm an evil fiend, who came here to feast upon all the good souls of Talingrade!" she says mockingly.
"That was a jest of course. I'm an Ifrit, nothing to do with devils, demons, daemons or something else. I've been convicted here against the laws of Talingrade." she adds with a smirk, clearly omitting something in her last statement.
Talking with this one seems entertaining, and-OH, FIRE AND CINDER WHAT DID THE BLOND ONE SPAT?! That's disgusting!
As the others talked, Paimon tested the slack of his manacles. They were tight around his wrists, but a little loose around the bars. He knew the others could hear his awkward rattling and, ever the showman, tried to iron some grace into his movements. He brought his arms down so that he could feel the chain resting on his shoulders. Then, elbows back, he leaned forward and twisted his arms until they felt like they were on the verge of popping out of place, but then they didn't and smoothly he transitioned into a position where his arms rested comfortably behind his back as opposed to above his head.
"Oh and they absolutely insisted I come along." Paimon coughs out, jumping off of Tkaara's statement, "They're a bunch of pissy prats when you don't show up to one of their gatherings. They didn't even give this old sport time to change."
And it was true, Paimon wore a tattered rough around a bare chest and velvet pants that ended in pointed shoes. Traces of paint that hadn't already sweated off streamed into peach fuzz around his chin and neck. Too tall to stand upright in the cell, he glanced around once more before squatting down into a half sit.
A tall, slender figure with pale skin and lanky black hair looks quietly around the cell, studying his cellmates and the guards beyond with great care. Felrin is a bit odd-looking, though not inhumanly so. But he’s certainly not pretty. Strange bony knobs and bumps can be seen scattered over his hands and forearms, and similar odd growths are evident on his feet and legs where his tattered prison rags allow them to show through.
Still silent, he flexes his long, slender fingers, bending them down to where he can lay them on his shackles, probing carefully and patiently. Once this task is complete, a small, confident smile crosses his face. He inhales quickly and a distant look enters his eyes, almost instantly replaced by one of alarm. What in the Prince’s name?! My power, I can’t touch it!
As the conversation begins, he shifts his attention to it, looking for any information that might aid him in getting out of this place, and avoiding the wrath of his dark lord. His eyes widen at the young student’s bold mention of Asmodeus, and he sneers slightly. Her? A servant of Asmodeus? I guess he has many tools, but she seems such a frail thing. If only I knew more of him…but I know more than these fools, I’d wager.
After a time, he speaks up, ”The Royal Court, you say? From the look of things, I’d say you’re right, but I know little of such matters. Tell me, does it make sense that they’d send someone here for a mere killing or two?”
Felrin tries to hide his eagerness to know the answer. Please let them only try me for the killings. Please let them not know the truth about me! Lord of the Pit, I wish to serve you, if only I can escape from this place! If they send me to the mines, I can get out, blend in, that’s what I must hope for.
"Being not quite the upstanding citizen, I wager, dear lady," the fair-skinned man answers the younger girl's question in jest, if his words can even be considered an actual answer. Then again, she hardly gave him one to his own query, so he hardly feels he should elaborate further, at least for now. "But to at least answer another of your questions a little better, knowledge can indeed be quite dangerous, especially if it involves secrets. Dangerous, but also rather useful," he adds with a wink before turning his attention to another.
"I suppose it depends on who it was that you merely killed," Erevan replies, the wordplay an attempt to introduce some more levity to their otherwise dire situation.
"Or attempted to..." These last words he speaks in a softer voice, almost a whisper, but in the small cell, close as they are to each other, even a whisper can be easily heard.
"They were nobodies," Felrin responds dismissively, "though they made fine clocks, for what that's worth." The black-haired man's quiet comment piques his interest, however, and he asks, "What? Who did you kill, or try to?"
He then gives the young student next to him a quick look and shakes his head slowly, then answers her question. "A bloody prison wagon brought me here," he says in a low, intense tone, "a society that condemns a man for what he is brought me here, a god whose self-righteous worshipers condemn anyone who's different brought me here..." He trails off, realizing he's said far more than he intended to, and clenches his teeth to keep from saying more.
Keep it together, Fel! Don't let these people know what you are, don't let anyone know! Escape, to do what you must.
"...I'm an evil fiend, who came here to feast upon all the good souls of Talingrade!" she says mockingly.
"That was a jest of course. I'm an Ifrit, nothing to do with devils, demons, daemons or something else."
"Oh." Hecate looked eager for a moment, before realising that the Ifrit-lady was joking. "I've been wanting to meet a fiend, I've been experimenting with summoning but I never managed more than a few animals - but Asmodeus? He's the King of fiends - well, devils, but who'd want to rule over a bunch of Chaotic demons? He's also the lord of law; he penned the contract that started the whole of creation! Not surprised you haven't heard of him - the Mitrans tried to stamp out his followers years ago; did a pretty good job, too. Took me ages to find any books, and then I had to learn the language..." The pride in her voice is more evident this time.
The girl pauses to take a breath; she enjoys teaching and, in her eagerness to explain, had temporarily forgotten where she was. In reply to the dark-haired man, she states simply "I'm a wizard. I study - studied - at the Academy here in Matharyn. Conjuration, mainly. I'm - was - about to sit final exams to qualify. Don't suppose it matters now though."
In response to the joke about invitations, she grimaces slightly: "I had my 'invite' delivered by a bunch of knights - broke down the door to my room while I was sleeping. Sir Balin of Karsfeld himself. Gave me this." She indicates the large bruise on the left side of her face. "I didn't realise I was that dangerous... Self-righteous is exactly the word - Mitra must be jealous of Asmodeus's power; why else would he try to stamp out the competition?" She nods emphatically in agreement with the strange-looking being with the large hands and sallow skin. "My name's Hecate* - what's yours?"
Gabriel pulls and stretches at the manacles. He manages to wedge them down a bit on his forearm exposing his wrist. He rubs at each one of them. This is the first time they cuffed him a bit loose and the marks on his skin show damage from the chafing of the metal against his skin. Oh man does that feel good. Those bastard knights. If not for Balin we may have had a chance. So anyone else here for treason?
Gabriel is an impressive sight for most. His demon blood has came to the surface taking away almost all signs of once being human. His skin is deep crimson. His legs are more goat like then human. Hooves are where his feet should be. He has massive horns that would be better suited on a bull than a man.
Not that we will know each other long, but I’m Gabriel. So what are you guys in for?
So many of us at one time. Surely we all haven’t committed capital crimes.
Felrin would be surprised to hear such words from anyone in Talingarde, but to hear them from a young girl leaves him momentarily stunned. She knows at least as much of Asmodeus as I do, and I've been attempting to learn about him for a handful of her lifetimes! What a strange place I've come to...
Having lived under many false names over the years, Felrin is rather pleased to simply give his own name, given him by his poor, suffering parents so long ago. "I am Felrin. And I've never spoken to anyone about Asmodeus before...though he speaks to me." A bright intensity comes into Felrin's eyes as he makes this last comment, though it is hard to judge if it indicates madness or the fervor of his belief.
"And while we're speaking the unspeakable," he continues quietly, a lighter tone entering his voice, "you have just met a fiend."
"I would say you have met two of them," Erevan corrects the one called Felrin with a look towards Gabriel to indicate the other man's strange appearance. "I must admit, however," he then continues, addressing the red-skinned fiendspawn with the same faint crooked smile as before, "I would not have thought you for a 'Gabriel'."
"I am Erevan," he finally introduces himself with a slight bow of his head in courteous greeting, or at least as much of that particular gesture as can be achieved while manacled to a wall. "Erevan Cale, at your service."
"Treason? Is that why you are here for then? Well, I hope your plan made a little more sense than mine, as I seem to have tried to topple the rightful ruler of Talingarde by striking at his second nephew's fourth cousin thrice removed or something along those lines. At least that is what I was told as two gentlemen were rather forcefully crushing my head against the ground. Well, more or less; the hands around my throat and over my eyes and ears made it a little difficult to pay attention, you understand." He shrugs, an incredulous look on his face. "Funny. One would think that I might have come up with a better plan, yes?"
A smile appears on Etna's face when Hecate talks about her studies"A wizard! How wonderful! And so young, too! I've dabbled in the arcane arts, but I've dropped the studies for some time now..." her smile slowly disappears, substituted by a look of grim resignation "..a pity we won't be able to continue them, alas."
Such a bright girl. A shame, a real shame. We need more scholars and less people playing nobility, in this country.
"So this 'Asmodeus' is a god of law, uh." Etna stops for a second to look around, trying to see outside of the cell. "Law is what there should be here. First they make laws, rules, that everyone should follow: then, when they want, they throw them all away in the name of 'goodness'. Pah! This place, the royal court, is the perfect example: here, all laws are forfeit before the goodness of the King. If he wants you beheaded, it is so! They call it a 'Court of Law' but it's a 'Court of Good': what a travesty!".
Even if Etna manages to keep her voice down, her hair take a bright orange color, starting to move around like a live flame.
"Pardon me, I just lost my composure." Etna says as she tries to calm down.
"But where are my manners! I am Etna Agnes, daughter of Raphael Agnes, famed Wizard, and Lady Farisa, a pathetic whore that calls herself my mother." she adds, scoffing at the part about her mother.
"Pleased to meet you all." she finishes with a polite smile.
"A worthy point," Felrin concedes as his attention is drawn to the red-skinned Gabriel, "two fiends, and at least one with an unexpected name."
He gives the fire-haired woman an appraising look, then says, "An interesting distinction you make between a court of law and a court of good, I like it. I fear whichever one we face here is likely to condemn us, however, the Mitrans being as they are."
A sardonic smile crosses his face as Etna finishes speaking and he says, "Not to worry, I've done far worse when I've lost my composure. In truth, I guess that's how I ended up here."
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Tkaara coughs once more, although it does not sound as bad as before:
Strange. I feel better here than I have felt in months. Perhaps they have some strange healing magic that cures us, so they they can execute the healthy.
She then looks over at the young girl.
Yes, everyone who is anyone in this land knows of the Lord of Contracts. Mitra may rule this foolish land, but few barristers do not whisper a prayer to the Dark Lord when drafting a contract that the terms be true and enforceable.
She then takes a few more deep breaths and licks her lips as though hoping to taste something that is not there. Anyone who looks closely may notice a faint glint of silver on her tongue as she does so.
This. She nods her head toward the guards and the luxuriously appointed room just out of sight. This is the Royal Court. It is neither a court of law, nor a court of good. As I said before, it is the King's Court. His word is law, irrespective of whether his decision is just or legal. He could order us all to be disemboweled, or drawn and quartered, and it would be done by his minions without blinking an eye. He could order us all to be pleasure slaves, or be fed to his dogs. Whatever he decides, is what will be done.
Once more, she straightens her posture, cracking her neck in the process, before continuing.
Anyone who is here has been found guilty of what this nation deems to be the most heinous of crimes. Treachery, piracy, murder, blasphemy, extortion. And, not just normal crimes of these types, but rather something that was found to be the worst of its type. So, not just slavery, but trying to take young girls. Not just murder, but murder involving clergy or virgins or the elderly.
She once more looks to Hecate:
In your case, it was likely the crime of conspiring with dark forces. As you discovered, this foolish nation does all in its power to keep knowledge of the Dark Lord from reaching the people of the land. For, if the people here were to learn of the other deities of the world, then people might start to question the absolute authority of the King and his pitiful deity Mitra.
When she finishes, she spits in disgust. Not from any illness as before, but clearly as a show of her disillusionment with those ruling the land.
Before addressing Tkaara, Etna gives a look to the four men.
They look like brutes, most of them. And Murder? There are way more clean and satisfying ways to resolve problems, and murder is something savages resort to. Still, the one with yellow eyes (Erevan, was it?) seems like a reasonable fellow. Educated, too. That mountain with a sense of humor there, tough... Better not say anything and pick a fight with some of them.
"Well, I must be one of those few barristers, because I never heard of him until today." Etna says, turning to Tkaara "You say he is the god of contracts, too? That is quite appropriate for what I've done until I were captured. Maybe if I knew of his existence I could have prayed for his aid or guidance...". Stopping for a second, Etna sighs, thinking about how close she was to her goal. "But as things stands, I'm here because of my incompetence: I've underestimate my enemy, and so I am."
Felrin considers the case Tkaara makes for what kind of court they'll face, then says to her, "If we're here because we committed the worst sort of crimes, what did you do? You sound like you're trained in the law; did you sue the king?"
Turning to Etna, he says, "I'd ask the same of you. I was found with blood literally on my hands, what I'd done was clear. And by the hells, it felt good. But you speak of contracts and incompetence, yet you've made no deal with the Dark Prince. What brought you here?"
If Tkaara were to look in his direction, she'd see Paimon looking at her, staring even, as if he'd noticed something. As the conversations continue around him, the half-orc grows bored and begins stretching. "I owe an 'umble apology to every Taldish man I've ever met," he began "for it isn't true, after all, that they are the rudest in all the world... That distinction goes to every cad in this room with a free hand. Someone offer the lady some water!" He clanks his manacles together for effect and watches the guards' movements.
With his outburst out of the way the half-orc sighs. Hearing Etna speak he adds, "Underestimating an enemy, to an extent, is what's gotten us all in here I'd imagine. "
I didn't really have much of a plan Erevan. I guess I was getting back at my father and all those that turned on me when I awoke in this form. It wasn't long ago I looked as young Hecate, or Tkaara are, well what I mean is human not the female part. He actually smiles thinking about his words.
But then all the people in my life turned and shunned me. I made them pay though. I became quite good at stalking and killing. I took what I needed and lived in the woods. I guess eventually I got a little too ambitious.
Gabriel looks around the room sizing all up that are here.
I know they are going to take us to Brandiscar to await whatever sentence we are given, but none have ever broken out from such a place. My father told be about it so many times. Surely I'm not meant to die yet. I must think and learn what each person is talented at.
Oh so my name is odd because of my appearance? I hope you don't judge me on that. I am not one to judge others on appearance and hope you would give me the same courtesy. I do admit if I am to die it is nice to spend some of my last moments with the company of such beautiful ladies.
He looks to each one winking. Its pretty obvious and either cute or really cheezy. That is up to the ladies.
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At Felrin's comment, Tkaara's eyes narrow:
And, what makes you think I actually committed a crime? Perhaps I am a plant to gain information from you all. Perhaps I was found guilty in in err.
She licks her lips, a slight look of hunger in her eyes:
Speaking of which, what did you do for which you feel you can ask the crimes of others? You claim to have lost composure. Last I checked, lost composure was not a crime. Things you do after losing your composure, well, that is a completely different matter.
Jalik sat quietly trying not to be noticed in the farthest part of the cell listening to each of the prisoners speak. Jalik was often unnoticed in places like this. His small stature and grey skin made him blend with the darkened cell. His once whitish hair was now soiled to the point that it appeared black in the shadows of the cell and his clothes all torn and weathered by his captivity made them an ideal disguise for escape if he could just get loose.
As he sat there listening he thought to himself of his dark situation and the environment with which this was all occuring. He realized from this scenary that this was no ordinary cell. He had heard stories of this place but he didn't believe them. Escape this time would require help. It was time to plan.
He continued listening as he moved about in his confinement looking for any slight flaw in the design of the holding area, his chains, the location of each prisoner, and the methods of egress from this location. He could still hear them talking. The other prisoners banter calmed him for the time being. Even in this unpleasant situation it was the first time in days that he felt at ease. Lastly he thought of his strength and speed. He looked over his bruised body and noticed no real injuries.
"Psst... over here you. Yeeesss you... how far can you move in those manacles?" Jalik spoke quietly to his closest cellmate, Paimon.
Jalik stood up and began to test his movement limits.
Now tired of the conversation Jalik interupts them,
"You all sound like death. Did you all already quit. Bahhh. There is a way out of this, there always is a way out. Humans make mistakes... lots of mistakes."
Jalik realizing that his escape will not be now moved back to a location of comfort in his iron restraints.
"I have heard a lot of talk amongst you but my favorite without doubt is Gabe's recent comment about the lovely ladies we are all sharing company with in this lovely resort. Fair day ladies. Maybe each of you will accompany out of this hole once I figure out our escape."
"I would think that this is hardly the time or place for flirting, but far be it from me to deny anyone their distractions. Are you looking to gather yourself a harem, my optimistic fellow?" His tone is the same as before, calm and pleasant, even a little on the mirthful side. At least his incarceration is proving somewhat entertaining so far thanks to the sheer variety of the people sharing the cell with him.
"What is wrong with a little chat? It helps pass the time and allows us to better get to know each other, something which, I might add, could prove quite useful down the road to all of us, and especially those dreaming of escape. Sure, our time together may be brief, but we may as well make the most of it," Erevan continues conversationally, shifting his body a little in an attempt to get more comfortable. His cellmate's comment about the incompetence of humans he leaves unanswered.
Etna chuckles slightly at Paimon's comment "Quite true, quite true, Sir...?" she waits for Paimon to introduce himself.
I really hope he doesn't have some of those orc names, like Bonecrusher or something like that.
Etna turns to Tkaara "Oh, don't be so rude Ma'am. Felrin here was trying to make a conversation, and you can't blame him to assume that, if we are here, we actually did something." She pauses for a moment, trying to assume a more comfortable position. "But in any case, if you want to know, I'm guilty of Fraud. A nine-year long one, to be more specific, and one that was really close to it's completion. Alas, my target, that is my 'mother', was more sharp than I give her credit for, and she managed to caught me red-handed."
Etna purposely ignores any compliment or comments that the two men make about her appearance.
Ah, I at least hoped that here there wouldn't have been anyone that was hitting on me. But still, talking about red-handed: did that Felrin said that it felt good to kill someone, to have blood on his hands? What a savage!
Etna smiles at Erevan's comments.
My, who would have said that I would have found myself in agreement with a murderer! I have to say, he is quite well-mannered.
Hecate nods at Tkaara's words "Yes, that's what the warrant said - 'consorting with Dark Powers.' I wasn't consorting, though, just studying... Too fine a distinction for them, I think. Not that I was in a state to argue!" She feels the bruise on the side of her face once more.
The girl tries an awkward curtsy to Felrin (difficult in her night-gown): she realises that he's really a half-fiend, but if it pleases him to say that she's met a fiend then she won't query it.
Aware that she's not looking her best (which isn't much anyway), she assumes that the flirting comments are directed toward Tkaara and Etna (whom she regretfully acknowledges are much prettier than she is) and so ignores them.
She jumps slightly - and clumsily - as Jalik speaks; she hadn't noticed him until that point. A slightly rueful smile as he says that humans make mistakes "Well yes, or I wouldn't be here. I still don't know what I did that gave me away, though. I really thought I'd been careful. As for a way out, I'm listening - my magic doesn't work in here, for some reason. Not that I've got my spell components anyway - and those whoresons killed my familiar"
Hecate doesn't normally swear, and it shows in the way she mangles the word. But she's actually angrier about the death - murder - of her rat familiar than about her own treatment.
In a sudden flurry of activity out of an almost undetectable side door come a host of servants, all dressed in black and white uniforms, some carry tables and others carry boxes of linens all nice and neatly folded. They quickly setup a few tables and spread out stacks of clothes upon them. The linens are all a dull grayish color and simple in design. As soon as the servants are done they disappear as quickly as they came.
A few moments later a tall sharply dressed gentleman wearing a white wig comes into the hall. He stops just short of your cell and turns almost mechanically and with acute precision toward all of you and begins to speak in a somewhat low monotone voice.
"The king shall direct that all convicted prisoners be supplied with ah complete prisohn dress, and that all such prisoners...be required to weaaar it..."
He simply waves a gloved hand toward the linens on the table.
"The king shall direct that every prisonah be supplied with clean linen, including shirt, (whethah of linen, cottohn or flannel) stockings, and handkerchief."
Again he waves a gloved hand toward the linens.
"Uhthers will be along shortly to alloh you to dress. please doh not resist or make trouble or you will be punished. the king alsoh request to inform you that he will be picking ah subject todeay for public executiohn should you be chosen then your uniform will be forfeit and removed prior to your sentence being caaarried out."
With the formalities completed he leaned closer to the cage and lowered his voice.
"One does heaaar that there will be ah hanging this deay and one of you will be the entertainment. we aaare expecting ah stonking crowd for the show. Heavens above! How smashing!"
With that said he walks off whistling a tune to himself, and again you are left to yourselves except for the guards and the knights in the hall.
"Killed your familiar? I don't really see a reason to justify such bar-" Etna starts to say to Hecate, only to be interrupted by the servants. She will stay silent during their explanation, and waits for them to exit to speak to the others.
"Have I misheard, or they're going to execute one of us on the spot to please the crowd?"
For a while, she remains silent, staring at the floor. "Now I understand what you were saying before" the Ifrit says to Tkaara "There are no rules whatsoever here. Not only they want to ignore the appropriate punishments for our crimes, but they want to hang one of us twelve for entertainment? I am completely speechless. The lack of respect that these people have for their own laws is disgusting."
He sat in silence praying, speaking into the dark, waiting for answers. He listend while the others talked he cared not, he was focusing on calling to the dark spirits beyond.
But he could hear nothing.
Damn, it would appear that Mitra's sway is too strong in this city. I shall have to wait until further notice for instructions....
He stopped praying and opened his pale, blue eys. Might as well engage in conversation, though they are already ahead of him by a mile.
He listend to the stories of the others. They were facinating, quite the gathering of rouges. At least they could understand his god on some level, they weren't completely inept. They may even be useful for his plans.
Perhaps this was the answer he was looking for! Yes...the dark master always sends a sign, you just have to be smart enough to see it.
Slowly he raised himself from his and stepped out of his shadowy corner until the chains held fast.. A tall pale elf, coverd in megaer rages and thinned from starvation, and yet holding an air of dark nobility.
"What an intresting gathering of 'villains' we have here." he said in a deep, soft voice. He eyes glanced over all of his cellmates. They landed on Etna, a glimmer of curiosity sparked within his cold eyes.
"You are of ifrit blood? How intresting, like a distnant cousin of my masters... almost." he says. Catching himself, he manages to makr a bow of sorts in a regal and respectable manner, even as he is hamperd by the chains.
"Forgive me" he started, "I know all your names, yet you do not know mine. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Melphael, loyal servant of Asmodeus. I too, for reasons of my own, dispise this perverted mockery of a kingdom called Talingarde. You all wish for a better order? You wished to be saved from the hangman's noose, as I do? Perhaps we can make a deal..." A calm smile sets upon his face.
Etna reciprocate Melphael's bow to the best of her abilities "I have to say, I feel quite out of place, as it seems I'm the only one that is not a follower of Asmodeus here!" she say, laughing faintly. "But yes, I agree that Devils and Efreeti are much alike. They give mortals what they want..." her soft smile turns to a wicked grin "...but of course, people rarely realize what consequences their desires have. It is their fault if they can't see that they're being duped, anyway." she adds with a smirk. "I think phrases like this is what brought the good people of Talingrade to label me as evil! Not that I mind , because what I say is only the truth. If you're more cunning than others, good. If not..." Etna points to the outside of the cell "...you get beheaded for public enjoyment."
"Quiet yourselves, the lot of you, before you draw down the attention of the guards," the heretofore silent man in the corner hisses in a thick Ustalavic accent. "Unless of course you relish the humiliation of a beating before being presented to the king."
The man in question is tall, just over six feet, and stands ramrod straight, though with head bowed. He wears the ruined remnants of an urban professional's garments: a torn and blood-stained waistcoat that may have once been a handsome charcoal gray, a pair of black trousers that would never be properly creased again no matter how pressed, a shirt that had once been white but now was streaked with dirt, dried blood, and worse, even a cracked and battered paid of spectacles. His sleeves and collar gape open, obviously once held closed by cufflinks and a necktie, respectively, and it seems some enterprising guard relieved him of his shoes.
As for the man himself, he appears quite thin, almost emaciated, but the perceptive among you might notice, through the tears in his clothes, that he is actually quite powerfully built, his arms and torso displaying wiry muscle. His hair is blonde and unkempt, with a prominent shock of white making up the bangs over the left side of his face, and he currently has what appears to be a couple weeks of growth of facial hair, giving him a desperate, almost predatory look. He does not look directly at anyone, but stares off at nothing with eyes of a blue so pale they are as chips of ice set into his skull, and his narrow nostrils flare rhythmically as he breathes.
Of all the humiliations I have suffered, to be locked in a cage with a bunch of common criminals is surely the most grave! At least the Beast seems to be slumbering... for now. The girl, at least, seems to be as much a victim here as I. A shame that this blasted country would condemn one for simply seeking knowledge, and one so young at that.
Hecate isn't quite telling the full story regarding her familiar; she is about to resume her narrative when the guards - and clothing - arrive. At least I'm not going before everyone in my pyjamas, she thinks to herself. The girl shares Etna's horror at the idea of public execution for show; "So much for a Lawful Good nation, hey?" she remarks to nobody in particular.
Hecate flinches at Ottakar's sharp rebuke: having recently been subjected to violence for perhaps the first time in her life, she's not keen on a repeat. She looks curiously at him: "You seem to be an educated man, Sir; what brought you to this predicament? "
I know nothing of this god you speak of Etna. My mother said she heard stories of devilish blood running from her side of the family, but until I changed she thought they were just stories. Mothers are funny. I loved mine once. She betrayed me the same as all the rest.
He looks to the man that presumes he has some authority over us.
You sit and think to yourself all you want, don't give us orders like your better than us. You are here for a reason as well.
Gabriel sits back a moment as if what the guards said just hit him.
An execution is it. Today even. Great. I'm sure they will want to kill the devil spawn. Though it seems I'm not the only one, but I'm the most non human looking one for sure.
Ottakar does not answer for a moment. When he does, he speaks softly while continuing to stare off into the distance. "The same thing that brought you here, Fraulein: I am a seeker of knowledge. While you searched for a mouldering god, I seek to understand the working of the living body. I am a man of medicine. The secrets I have uncovered, would have uncovered, have the potential to help everyone. The cowardly Mitrans are jealous, however; they wish to ensure that only they and their magics can deal with disease. They destroyed my research, beat me, arrested me, and now threaten to kill me." While his voice remains soft and level the whole time, his anger is clear in the drops of blood hitting the cage floor, dripping from his clenched fists. He turns his head and meets Hecate's gaze, his eyes burning with rage and indignation. "Which is exactly what they had better do, or I will restart my research using them as my subjects. I will show them how their veins attach to their still-beating hearts. I will show them just how much pain a surgeon's razor can inflict, just as I did to the first fool who got too close when they mistakenly believed I was just a simpering peon who would go quietly to his fate. If they do not kill me first, the Beast will feed... I trust I do not have to warn you not to stand in my way should that time come." Done speaking, he nods to the girl and turns back to his contemplation.
Gabriel's words he seems to ignore, giving no indication that he even heard the tiefling.
Ah, the inevitable braying of the idiot children who mistake rationality for an order and lash out at their betters. Let the simpering fool snap all he wants, as long as he is the one the guards beat when he annoys them.
The nerve of this one.
"Well" Etna starts, staring at Ottakar "you have to admit that what you had just said doesn't really befit the image of yourself you're trying to give us. 'Show them how their veins attach to their still-beating hearts'? That's what a murderous savage would say, not a scholar. Beside, I'll echo what Gabriel already said, I never heard of a law against the research against medical researches: the Mitrans are religious fanatics, not idiots. I am not a simple fraud, and the murderers here are not street-thugs: what did you actually do to end in the Royal Court?"
Paimon hesitates to speak again, as the servants steal everyone's attention away, if only but for a short moment. When he finally does, he does so after Etna finishes speaking to others. During the while, he watches the hobgoblin, Jalik with curiousity. The hobgoblin had started and finished a conversation with Paimon before the latter had ever spoken. On one hand Paimon felt it rude, on the other, it could make for quite the brilliant soliloquy. "I was - am - Paimon. Called the Fool by others, as you can imagine given what's left of my costume." he crosses his knees to affect something a mock curtsy, presenting himself to the Ifrit girl. "Good on you - Etna, and the rest of you with the exception of Herr Doktor, for using your final moments to make a friend or two."
He tests his chains again, though he knows its useless. On the occasion of Dr. Wilkin's outburst he smiles. "Oh Herr Doktor, such a limited imagination. My newest regret is that I will never have the chance to expand it for you." A sneer plays across the half-orc's face, "And to you Etna, you are not alone. Neither do I worship the one called Asmodeus. I have room in my heart only for the Midnight Lord and it is his lash that I long for in the next life."
As the other hell-spawn – for that is clearly what they both are, despite the differences in aspect – tells his tale, Felrin feels a kinship he never imagined possible. ”Our tales are not so different, yours and mine,” he offers, ”though I learned of my…unusual blood long ago, and where you fled to the wildlands, I chose to blend in, to watch and study, to move among the humans. I lost my family nearly a century ago, and since then I have made the people of Talingarde believe I was one of them. As to judging your name odd due to your appearance – appearance is a changeable thing, as you and I know well. But whatever you look like, it is odd for one with the name of an angel to be locked in here amongst the greatest devils in the land, is it not?”
Turning to Tkaara, he says, ”Losing one’s composure is not a crime, though I’m sure the thrice-damned Mitrans would make it so if they could. In my case, my identity had been exposed and I knew I would die if others found out. I should have fled, vanished once again, but I wished to stay in Matharyn for foolish, personal reasons. Instead, I struck out at those who would accuse me, who would say that I had not aged a day in forty years and must be judged for it. I killed them and was captured, my composure shattered indeed.”
A slightly ironic smile crosses Felrin’s face as he goes quiet, and he speaks up again shortly after, ”The fact is, composure may be a thing of my past. I know you all have your reasons for hating, even deeply loathing Mitra and her servants. In order to avoid detection by them, to fit in, I have maintained my composure for over eighty years. I am done, and my anger must out. I will keep a lid on my rage, even as it boils away within me, for as long as it takes to escape from this place, but when it is unleashed…” Felrin stands abruptly and discovers he is literally shaking with rage, on the verge of yanking at his chains and bringing the guards upon them all. He takes a pair of quick, calming breaths and looks through the bars at his captors, still foolishly ignorant, then lowers his bone-scarred hands and remains standing, the energy coursing through him too much to allow him to sit just yet.
Soon after, the silent, pale fellow in the corner of the cell speaks up, to ask if they have given up. ”I cannot afford to give up,” responds Felrin simply, ”I must get out of this place, and do my master’s bidding. If I die with our bargain unfulfilled, I face tortures beyond imagining.”
The arrival of servants, and clothing, and the casual, celebratory announcement that one of them would die, spurred a rush of conversation among his cellmates. ”Does it surprise any of you that they would act this way?” he weighs in, quiet anger still clear in his voice. ”They call themselves a people of law, they call themselves good, but they use these names as a way of judging on the spot, of condemning on sight anything that is different or displeasing, and then justifying their actions as fair and right.”
His anger momentarily spent by this series of tightly controlled outbursts, Felrin sinks back to the floor of the cage, his arms held aloft by the manacles. He returns to his quiet study of his fellow prisoners, surprised and intrigued especially by the viewpoint of the ‘surgeon’. He calls my lord a “mouldering god?” He will know better one day. But he seems a patient, methodical sort, perhaps he’ll have something to offer when it comes time to get out of this place.
One of the seated guards stands and walks over to the cell drawing his club from his belt and runs it along the cell bars.
"Ye know I wish ye all would just quit all ye belly aching over one of you getting strung up by thee hangman's noose today. Over half of ye have committed crimes that would have a death sentence anyway. Thee King is just carrying out the sentence today as an example to the rest of Talingarde that justice is swift and that good will always prevail over thee evil that lurks in thee dark places. It is not like most of ye won't be hanged, beheaded or burned at thee stake at Branderscar anyways."
He then pauses for effect as if being over theatrical.
"And I would not be speaking thee name of thee one that is nameless in thee king's presence either or ye shall all burn at thee stake today. If I hear that name again I am gonna make sure ye all get a right good thrashing."
With that he secures his club back to his belt and returns to his bench and the other guards laugh with him as they continue their conversation.
"You all seem so very interested in each others affairs. Very well, I will address your queries, put your curiousity to rest, for it is unlikely that it will matter much longer. For the first, I offer no image; you are free to look and listen and decide for yourself what I am. You will likely be incorrect. I said I was a surgeon, not a scholar. My search for knowledge takes place not within dusty tomes or ruined temples, but in the flesh and blood of the real world. You are wrong about the Mitrans; they are religious fanatics and idiots both, though the two are fairly redundant. They objected to the manner in which I sought to learn about the body, how it works, how it lives, dies, and heals. They act as if a handful of vagrants, miscreants, and prostitutes are some great loss, as if a few fresh cadavers liberated from uselessly rotting in a grave are some great crime instead of recognizing it as a necessary step to unlocking the mysteries of life itself. There are few sights in this world so fascinating or worthy of study as that of a still-beating heart. The thrice-damned Mitrans attack me because I had the courage to seek out that sight. If you wish me to speak in the language of your profession, I am accused of graverobbing, torture, desecration of remains, resisting arrest, killing an officer of Talingarde whilst resisting arrest, and multiple counts of premeditated murder. Does that satisfy everyone's curiousity on the matter?"
Etna reciprocate the cutsy, smiling at the one that introduced himself as Paimon called the Fool and his disdain for the uncouthness of the Doctor "It is a pleasure to meet you, Paimon. Have you been brought here for the same reason as Hecate, because the Mitrans didn't agree with your worship of a different deity?"
When the discussion is interrupted by the guard, Etna falls silent. When the guard departs, Etna's eyes follow him trailing then to the knights.
Those guards look like boors, but there are some knights of Alerion here. Most of them are respectable. I wonder if cousin Eremin is here...
When the guards depart, Etna addresses the Doctor "That makes much more sense, Doctor. Still, I think that all of you are giving the Mitrans less credit than they're due. Of course most of them" she will glance at the nearby guards "are just pathetic beings, hypocrites, that use their god as a shield to justify their actions: they believe in Mitra as long as it suits them. But there are some that really believe in what they say: men and women that would go to any lengths to save others, that really judge others not for what they are, but for what they do, and that really believe that only few are beyond redemption, they are the real enemies to people that strayed off the path like us. They are few and far between, and I don't agree with anything they say, but their dedication to their cause is admirable to say the least. My cousin is like that, and my father was, too..." Etna pauses for a moment, memories of her father flashing trough her head. "Actually, most members of my family are like that. Me, my mother and my siblings are the only rotten apples." she will conclude with a chuckle
"That's what they tell me. They found our spiked chains and our mortal instruments; they read our holy texts and descriptive programs - oh they had such fine lettering; and deemed us enemies of their state and their shining god. They promised me I'd burn with all of of blasphemous material. I do hope they make good on it." Paimon says, flushes slightly at the memory, closing his eyes so that he can see everything as he spoke the words. Opening them once more, he affixes his gaze to Etna and cocks his head slightly, as if trying to get a better look at something. "Such a pretty neck you have..." His gaze blatantly continues down, lingering slightly as it reaches her breasts, her hips, and her feet. He then looks back up at her eyes, lingering there as well before speaking again. "What was that thing you did with your hair?"
Erevan lets out a soft sigh at yet another's lecherous remarks, but says nothing, instead turning to the condescending man with the Ustalavic accent. "That is quite the list, my good Doctor," he comments, taking care to use his proper title, "and it would indeed satisfy my curiosity, if it were not for something else you let slip, though you could have said it on purpose I suppose as well." He shrugs. "I do not know you enough to make up my mind, I am afraid."
"You mentioned the Beast? Not a beast mind you, but the Beast," he asks, his golden eyes focused on the self-proclaimed doctor, studying him. "I could almost hear the word's first letter be capitalized. Care to perhaps elaborate? I am willing to wager it would make for a most intriguing story, yes?"
"And do you have a name? I believe you have us at a disadvantage where introductions are concerned," he quips as a final remark. If it were not for his being confined in a cell, all dirty and tired, and waiting for a sentence that would most probably result in his death, he might be enjoying himself even more.
So many with such hate for this land. Why do they stay? I could ask the same of myself. I could have left for the mainland. I too have felt the need for revenge.
As Felrin speaks Gabriel meets his gaze.
I know not the origins of my name. It has just been that to me a name, but if you find it odd then that is fine. I don't have the luxury of being able to blend, besides I grew up in the woods and find it to be a home away from home.
Not only full of hate, many educated men and women here. I am just a simple country boy. Trained to be a soldier. Though I don't understand what the rant on about I must not let them know.
Etna, you speak of the knights of Alerion, no? I too was on the path to become one. I grew up knowing Mitra well, but never gave myself to the belief. That is all behind me now. It was Sir Balin himself that laid the ambush that caught me. I guess are ambition got the best of us.
Melphael chuckles at Etna's statement.
”Alas, that is the case for many in this kingdom. Their ignorance and fanatic devotion to the shining lord has left their brains like soft jelly. Stewing around in their heads until the day they die. Not really knowing what they truly want...even when it's right in front of them. My lord respects intelligence, and wit. If others cannot see a simple error or two in their contract, it is our duty to exploit said loopholes."
The elf eyes Gabriel with a look, a look of slight envy glimmers within his eyes, but he quickly looks away before he can be noticed.
After Enta concludes the statement about her family, Melphael sighs in contempt.
"My dear... I too know of the sorrow of family betrayal. A great and terrible betrayal. For it is one thing to stab a brother in the back. It’s another thing to forcefully stamp out one’s own family traditions and subjugate themselves to the ones who’ve destroyed their heritage in the first place! Leaving nothing but a pale stunted mockery of what used to be, for the satisfaction of a family, whose very lives are worth less than my spit!” For the first time since arriving in this prison, the elf had lost his temper. He was raised up to his full height, his hands were balled into fists, and his eyes seamed to glow with the passion and anger of a bull. The air around him became hotter, like a burning pyre.
Suddenly, Melphael caught himself and paused for a second, letting his shoulders lower, and his grip loosen. Just as quickly as the heat left, it returned. It was a long few seconds before he spoke again, this time more soft and careful.
”I know of family betrayal…it haunts me to this day. And it will haunt me forever more… until I have my revenge.” he leans against the wall, tired from his outburst.
”The lord of the pits guides us all to a destiny…such is mine.” he says softly.
When the guard finishes his dramatic statement, Melphael snarls quietly, and speaks in a whisper, not audible to the guards, but to his cellmates.
”Your “king” is the reason we’re all here, only through him, has Mitra gained such strength here… You will be hearing the name of ‘the one’ soon again, slave. After I finish with your king…”
I like you elf, I'm sorry Melphael. I know what it like to be consumed by revenge. My regret is not fulfilling my plans. See the north has grown soft behind the wall. If I could have sacked a few more garrisons and supplied the Goblinoids with some more weapons who knows what this great land would look like, but that is a dream now. I fear if not executed this day then it is off to Brandiscar. None has ever escaped its walls. My father told me stories. He even stood guard there before. If we go there it is to await our deaths.
Gabrile slumps down with a look of defeat. He gazes over all int he room.
Lets see which ones have the spirit not to give up. I don't know if escape is possible, but if others do give up I'm sure that it is not.