Dead Man Walking! A Way of the Wicked Campaign Phase III (Inactive)

Game Master bwatford

Etna grins at Tkaara's explanation "I have to take back all that I've said! That's fantastic! My apologies about my insinuation that you acted as a lady for hire..." Etna's smile fades "...and my sympathies for your health conditions. I didn't consider that you where using substances to lessen the pains of another disease and continue your work." Etna chuckles slightly "Still, even without them, you where perfectly able to make our honorable Sir Balin lose his temper. But speaking of diseases and medicine..." Etna starts, turning to the doctor.

"My dislike for you, Doctor, is only caused by your manners: a real shame, because your observation are quite sharp, and I'm intrigued by your trade. Medicine is a science that's often overlooked, the reliance people have on magic: the problem is, by a mere economical standpoint, that the resources that could be invested in research are spent to provide the corresponding magical benefits. For example, why support researches that could rid this Silver Tongue of its drawbacks, like Tkaara is saying, if you can already make a magical item that boosts those same capacities at no counter effects? I don't agree about this over-reliance on magic, but still..."

Seeing that Felrin was so ravenous, Etna pushes her plate of meat to him "Here. I'm not hungry." she says, smiling faintly.

Instinctively, Felrin pulls his hand away and hides it under the table, assuming a posture and expression that seems to transform him, making him look more purely human than he did a moment ago. He glances up and down the length of the table, looking to see who’s aware of him. Then, focusing again on the doctor, he relaxes. His posture becomes less erect and slightly stooped. His hands curl, thumbs twisting under, to resemble claws, and his eyes brighten, losing their look of civilized disinterest.

”Forgive me,” he says, ”I have been hiding a very long time, and it is second nature. But it feels good to be myself, for what time I have left.” He lays his hand palm-down on the table and responds to the doctor’s question, ”It is true, the blood of fiends runs in my veins. More specifically, if my limited understanding is correct, the blood of a thing called an Oni. They are shapeshifters, masters of disguise. My blood allows me to change my form. I can become a foul, stinking monster, or an innocent human child, and many other things. But my blood also changes me. As a boy, I looked like any human, but I began to change, to grow these bumps and bony ridges and long scars on my body, though I had suffered no wounds.”

He pulls up the sleeve of his prison-issued shirt, displaying a bizarre pattern on his forearm, like a tapered ladder made of bone, bulging out from under his skin, and says, ”This was not here yesterday, and may not be here a week from now. When I change my form, I can control what I become. But these slower changes, I cannot control or anticipate them, and they have grown more pronounced over the course of my life.”

After a thoughtful pause, he says, ”It is said that the Oni have one true form, that they return to when they die. I believe I am gradually taking on that form, that all these changes are moving me toward it. But I’ve no idea what that form will be or when the change will be complete.”

He flicks his eyes up and sees the look in the doctor’s eyes, one of fascinated interest and a keen hunger to know more. ”I should tell you, Doctor,” Felrin says mildly, ”that I’m happy to answer your questions about my blood and body. Perhaps we will both learn things of use to us. But if you attempt to cut me without my leave, I will bite your throat out, and yours will not be the first. Just so we understand each other.”

When Etna pushes her plate over to him, Felrin falls on it like he hasn’t eaten in days, then collects himself and says, ”My thanks. Etna, was it? If I may say so, you appear to have some exotic blood as well, though you don’t have the look of the hells about you.” He chuckles quietly a moment, muttering to himself, ”I can’t believe I’m in a place where such a thing can be said.”

Continuing, Felrin says, ”Sorry, much of this is very new and strange to me. Again, if you don’t mind my asking, what non-human blood can you boast of, to set you apart from the Mitrans and their ilk?”

"Look at us," Erevan observes as he partakes of both food and water; although quite hungry much like the rest of them, he eats gracefully, his movements as he makes use of the utensils provided to them measured and elegant, as if they were learned once and practiced time and again. "Not only are we having a proper meal, but a proper conversation as well," he says between bites, taking care not to speak with his mouth full.

"Unlike Ms. Agnes here, I neither like nor dislike you, Dr. Wilken," he says in reference to a comment the other man made moments earlier. "I do not know you long enough to decide after all, although I certainly find you quite the interesting fellow. What could be of consequence, however," the golden-eyed man continues, "is whether, regardless of your manners or lack thereof, you are someone that can cooperate with others, someone that can be relied upon, if -or, in case we are being optimistic, when- needed."

Taking a small sip of chilled water, he shrugs, looking from the doctor to the tiefling named Felrin once the latter speaks of the ability to change his form, the information bringing once again a smile to his lips. The next few words seem directed to more or less both of them, if not to all gathered at the table. "Considering our circumstances, practicality and usefulness trump good manners, yes?" As he speaks, he does take care to look around just in case some of the knights feel curious enough to approach. Still, they seem too disciplined, too focused on following their orders to the letter to do so, and thus remain where they are.

" I jest, but how did manage not to jump at his throat there? He really has nerves, to first beat a girl and then heal her to look good!"

Hecate shrugs and offers a wry smile. "I don't jump very well: I'd most likely have fallen over my own feet! Besides, I learned what defiance got me last time; let him think he's broken me, I care not. As- I mean, the Lord of Law whom we're not allowed to name - is also Lord of trickery. If he thinks I'm subdued, the guards may get careless - who knows?"

There is no need for you to die over what you have done. Pretend to be contrite. Tell them you have learned your lesson. They may yet live, and be allowed to return to your studies, albeit likely under close scrutiny. Perhaps you could move to another part of Avistan, escape the reach of the Mitrans altogether...

The young woman chews thoughtfully (she hadn't realised how hungry she was) as she considers the advice. Fixing him with her pale eyes, she is silent for some time. Eventually, she speaks. "And knowing that I broke through all their safeguards and studied the forbidden, do you think that they would ever let me practice magic again? Shall I tell you what you will never know: of the ecstasy of spellcasting, of the mind and body dizzy with the surge of arcane power, the joy of releasing it? No, I could never give that up. It would be worse than death, for it would be every day I lived. In my own way, I'm as addicted as Tkaara - no offence meant," she adds hastily, addressing the tall, pale woman.

Hecate, I am sorry that you were treated poorly. If Balin wanted to make and example to us he should have used me. It shows his weakness he would choose one such as you.

Hecate smiles warmly "And they say that chivalry is dead! I would be glad to have a champion, I'm not one to look down on those who are skilled in arms. It's not a skill I could ever achieve." She glances sidelong at Erevan, deftly wielding his gourd cutlery, before immediately looking away elsewhere.

"It is of little consequence to me if you do not like me; most people don't, and that is perfectly acceptable, as most people are idiots.

The girl does her best to conceal a grin: she's often felt the same way, but lacks the ability to carry off the level of disdain that Ottakar achieves without apparent effort.

During the meal, Hecate attempts to engage Amestri in conversation. " I saw the way you looked at Sir Balin, when he was rambling about his code - have you crossed his path before? "

A growing look of distaste playing across her face, Amestri places her 'utensils' beside her plate, adjuting them so they align properly before bringing her gaze up to the others.

"Perchance, may we change the subject of conversation to something more appropriate for mealtime? All this talk of disease, specimens, blood and brains...," she waves a hand in the air dismissively. "'Tis quite unseemly. If this is the last civilized meal I shall have in what remains of this life, I would prefer it to be accompanied by conversation befitting a proper soiree. Move on to something more abstract or, at the very least, continue with less of the sanguinary details."

Victor endured his torture in silence, if in pain, the days in his cell, the same cell he himself had often come to retrieve prisoners for question, dirty and smelling of feces, enduring the confused stares and silent treatment from his former subordinates, the jailers and practicals, as he waited away the time, wondering when they'd come and end his miserable existence. Always wracked with pain, the last few days had been especially grueling, Victor seemed to have contracted some illness as he was bathed in sweat, had more dizzy spells than usual, had difficulty staying awake and his breath came more ragged than ever, but knowing this waiting game was just another form of torture he endured it in silence.

When the day had come that they would present him with the charges and evidence Victor could do nothing but sign his own confession, he knew they had more evidence than they needed and he knew how they would get more if he resisted. The evidence was clear, the holy symbol he had on his person, the texts in his room and they even brought in one of the rare few that could manifest any form of divine power to confirm his taint of 'evil'. Victor endured it all with a silent sneer, the muttered curses and the high pitched speeches of his 'betrayal to the faith'. He was supposed to be dead anyway, might as well die with some grace.

The signed confession earned Victor a hasty trial and he fully expected to on his way to Branderscar for his branding and burning so when he found himself in the Royal Court he was somewhat taken by surprise. He had thought that the authorities that be wouldn't want a disgrace to their faith displayed in public, after all, they had trained him themselves.

Luckily his inquisitor coat had been removed before he was transported to the Court, wearing only black boots and trousers with suspenders over a white shirt likely saved him from the attentions various fiends he found himself locked up with and he was silently grateful to change out of his dirty rags to something that was at least clean.

He knew most of their cases, listening carefully he connected the dots to many an ongoing investigation that had passed through the inquisition desks. The Black Circus was an interesting one, he had looked forward reviewing the reports as they were said to be particularly interesting, and Dr. Wilken's testimony explained a lot of the disappearances, it had been a lucky brake the tip they had gotten on him. Ms. Agnes had been under investigation for longer than she probably realized but she was right, her mother was just as devious as she painted her to be. Victor had been certain that given the opportunity, he could have made her talk.

The rest, the various bandits and con-artists, murderers and heretics like himself, with their myriad of reasons and motives, all were equally guilty as he was himself.

With every movement an effort, lifting his arms, turning his head, opening his eyes, the blood pounding in his ears and his head splitting from a headache and the light of day forcing him to squint, Victor had opted to stay as still as he could, not that it helped, he still sweated and his joints still ached.

Sitting now at the table, the shackles rattling as he shakes and wearing prisoner grey, the sweat already making it's way through the borrowed garments, over his gaunt form, his auburn hair, cut short, is dirty and frayed, mat with sweat, and his sickly coppery complexion glistens as he shakily reaches for his fork, stabs a piece of meat and, with an effort, manages to jam it into his mouth. Rolling his eyes at the taste of the meat Victor can't help a moan rumbling in his throat as he savors it.

Taking his time in chewing the meat he opens his eyes to see that his noise has attracted some attentions from the table, 'Damn.' Looking dispassionately over the faces of the gathered he turns his attention back to the food. "The last meal. A rare grace such a bounty. The king must be feeling mercyful" he says to no one in particular, staring at his meal. "Savor it, and hope you never make it to Brandenscar. There will be no such luxuries, only four, windowless, grey stone walls as you wait the executioners leisure with no light to mark the passing of time. There is no escape from Branderscar." he mumbles.

Waiting for a moment as the piece of meat works it's way down his throat Victor slowly reaches out with a shacking hand to stab another piece and repeat the process.

Melphael said nothing as his fellow immates spat their words of venom upon Balin, satisfaction sewlled within him, but he did not let it show untill the knight was gone.

The silver tounges on the former barrister and that demented doctor are admirable, however such actions may get them killed before long.

After the pale elf was lead into the hall and into his seat, he began to consume his meal slowly. Although he tried to keep his composure, looks of slight pleasure snuck through his resolve. He was compelled to eat like a greedy beast, but he held fast. He had to keep up apperences, and this very well may be the last meal he'll ever have, best to savor it's tatse.

He notices the changes going on within Felrin and raises an eyebrow.

The man does not seam proud of his heritage...I should change that. Melphael leaned in to listen upon Felrin's conversation with the doctor.

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Melpahel joined Gabriel in comforting Hecte.

"My good lady, belive me, there is a very special place in hell reserved for men such as that. I do not belive that is the last we shall see of Balin of Karfeld. It would seam many amongst us hold a grudge with that man."he says as he looks back towards the Ottakar and Felrin.

"If we can gain their allegence, and if we can escape. I shall hold that inquisitor down as you deliver the final strike." he says with a glow of calculated anticipation in his cold blue eyes.

"But I have a question, that man is responsible for the death of your companion, but for what reason would he show such...vulgar intrest in you?

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Melphael also glaced from time to time at the silent aasimars, he could smell their heritage like a rat to a corpse.

What would they be doing here?

When the female suddenly began to speak, the pale elf moved in.

"Good evening, or morning, as I cannot tell what time of day we are in right now. You have not spoken until right now and, forgive my prying, but I am curious as to your identity. I am Melphael, humble servent of darkness, and you are...?"

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As the male one spoke, Melphael turned to him and said,

"You seam to be at a loss for hope, and you seam to know Branderscar more than the rest of us. Tell me, how do you know? And what awaits for those who must brave such a horrid prison, Mr...?"

"Well my dear, my own education was... Complicated." Paimon says, his gaze returned to Etna and carrying the same lecherous hints as before, though it didn't leave her eyes. "I was taught history by giants whose fiendish strength was only of passing interest until you heard their angelic voices. I was taught to read using the greatest bards and poets of both our age and the past by a master of tongues. Vesti la giubba was my daily hymn. Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre was my nightly prayer. My knowledge of substances is also a product of my upbringing, for how can one entice audiences to escape their reality if one's mind is so tortuously bound to their own?" Lastly he leans toward her and parts his lips, as if to tell a secret, but stops himself short of actually making a sound.

He continues to eat while the others continue speaking, only looking up to nod in agreement here or confirm an opinion there. Upon hearing Amestri's plea he stops, if only for a moment. "And what brings you here, m'lady? What sins have you to confess at your last supper?"

Swallowing his bite with a sigh Victor turns his gaze as he is addressed by the elf and eyes him for a moment before answering, taking in his features, his hair and complexion. "Well, 'the day is the darkest just before the dawn'. Victor replies, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he quotes Mitran scripture. "I am Victor, of house Karash, Pale Elf. An inquisitor in the 'service' of Mitra." he replies, nodding his head with a thin smile and a 'how-do-you-do', sarcasm evident as he utters the name of Mitra.

"Every Talingard man, woman and child knows of Branderscar, Windwalker, it is were the irredeemable, the forsaken, go to toil a lifetime in the salt mines of await the executioners tender ministrations. Or to burn at the stake, as I, for 'heresy'."

Amestri eyes move to look at both the lithe elf and the brutish halfbreed, her demeanor haughty and aloof but her eyes more engaged, indicating that the demeanor may be something more of training and habit than actual feeling.

"I am Amestri, la... no... second last of House Atezadeh. I had not spoken... well, since I had little to say. Perhaps a bad habit of mine," she says wryly. "'A noble woman is a quiet and demure one' is something they tell us while we're young. I am here because, although the rest of my family and the family of my late false husband have been justly put down, my father still lives," she says matter-of-factly, before correcting herself. "Hmm. Even if my arrow had been true, it is likely I would still be set for the headsman's axe, although I suspect some of his machinations were involved in my current circumstances."

As Hecate speaks of the joy of her arcane magic, Felrin nods in agreement. ”I have felt something similar, young one,” he says, reverence in his voice, ”though not from arcane power. My master blesses me with his power, and using it is a sweet rush, tinged with fire, right on the edge of pain…” He trails off, then says bitterly, ”If I die here, I will never know its taste again, and you are right, Hecate, that is a dark fate indeed.”

When the demure redhead finally deigns to speak, it is to ask him to speak of something else. ”Unseemly?” Felrin responds in disbelief, ”in this place? What would you have us speak of? I mean no offense, but in prison I am finally free to be who I am. Shall I limit my table conversation to the weather and how the crops are faring? Looking at you, perhaps you’d prefer to discuss the latest fashions from Absalom or music from Oppara?”

Surprisingly, Felrin is straining at his chains and gnashing his teeth as he speaks, looking like he’d take great pleasure in tearing the woman to pieces with his long-nailed fingers. He realizes he is attracting undue attention and calms himself, taking his seat once again and inhaling deeply. Looking back at the redhead, he says, ”I am sorry. As you may have heard, I have been concealing who I am for many, many years. There is an anger in me that will come out at times, and being able to be my true self seems to have fueled its flames. I’d prefer not to curb my tongue, but there was no call for violence or the threat of it.”

Etna raises an eyebrow to Paimon's last action, but she was far less annoyed by the 1/4-orc's antics than last time "Ah, so you didn't know what you did and said, in the grips of delirium?"* she says with a smirk.
I have to say, this Paimon is really surprising. How many artists did I mistook for boors in my life, only because they apparently had the strength to strangle a bull?

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"An Oni you say? Interesting, interesting..." Etna says to Felrin "As for me, I believe I already said that I am an Ifrit. My birth was influenced by the energies of the Plane of Fire, or I descend from an Efreeti: the latter is more likely. They are creatures much similar to devils: they promise mortals anything they wish, and then twist and corrupt those wishes to do them harm. I don't have even a sliver of their power, but my 'natural inclination' boosted my ability to twist the words of written contracts. I also tried to incorporate them in my spells..." she turns to Hecate "...In technical terms, I managed to use the wish of nearby people instead of the arcane formulae required to cast spells, enhancing them in the meantime. Alas, like the Doctor and Hecate, I'll never be able to continue my researches" she finishes with a melancholic smile.

Melphael's grin fades at the mention of Victor's inquisitor past, and he begins to stiffen at the Victor's mention of his family name. Melphael leans back in his chair, studying the angelblood as if he was a work of art. His face grows deadly serious.

"You know my true name, Victor, so you already know what your kind has done to me, but know that I will not tread lightly with you." Suddenly he leans foreward with a disturbing simle, baring his sharpened teeth, and sretching from ear to ear.

"Branderscar, a place for the irredemable you say?" he begins. " Well then former inquisitor Karash, what would a once 'glorious and holy servent of Mitra' such as yourself be doing in here for..." a pause, "Heresy? Aren't inquisitor's known for their neverending faith and loyalty to their god and king? What irredeemable crime could have caused the order to cast you out?"

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Melphael nods at Amestri's tale.

"Ah, a fellow noble, I recal your house, Atezadeh. You may know me as the last scion of House Devel."[b] Melphael cringes on using his false name. He offers his hand to the emberkin.

"I hope my bloody reputation doesn't precede me. How ever, what events would inspire you to...remove your family members from this world, killing one's family is a renowned sin in these parts."

Gabriel smiles warmly as Hecate speaks.

I know not of chivalry young miss. Just the way my folks raised me. Well until they turned on my anyways. So if a champion is what you need then I will be that. I may not be educated like the rest of you, but I hunt and kill humans pretty well. I'm slso a trained soldier. I will champion any that stand with me when the time comes.

His eyes wonder over to Amestri as she breaks her silence. He stares a moment in admiration of her beauty.

Miss Amestri. So glad to here you speak, Thought maybe took your tounge from you or something. Sorry the conversation is not what your used to. I guess when your life is about to end we talk about what we have done to maybe carry on with someone. Anyways it is nice to here you speak is all.

He shy's away, you would think he was blushing, but his skin makes it impossible to tell.

Returning the Pale Elf's study with a face devoid of facial expression Victor tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at the posturing. 'Perhaps he will be my death?' he wonders, strangely resigned to the fact that he most probably painted a huge bulls' eye on his back with the admition of having been a Mitran inquisitor, if the king didn't kill him then one of these gathered would.

"I know nothing of your family and I care little for your lineage, I only know your portfolio that lies on the inquisitions desk, I know of Brighttide and I know of goblins, I know of a hunt, a wanted poster and whispers of clues that might lead to a capture. You were never the focus of my work, though your reputation precedes you. As to the servants of Mitra..." Victor cracks a grin at the notion of holiness prevailing in the churches ranks. "..inquisitors, as well as other servants of the church, are known for many things, faith enough to manifest divinity is scarce among them. Did you know that the healers that walk the lands are not Mitran? Those that walk from town to town, offering to channel divinity to heal the sick and wounded, those who work tirelessly to ease the ails of the common men of Talingrad do not swear any allegiance to, nor follow any teachings of, the Mitrans? No, they are of The Blessed Order of St. Macarius. Surprised? You shouldn't be."

Leaning forward with a grunt at the effort it takes to raise himself from the chair, Victors feverish yellow-green eyes take on a hard stare. "Look at me! he hisses through clenched teeth, his face a mask of anger to match the Melphael's. "A celestial blooded man, a touch of divinity walking Golarion on two feet, a husk, withered, sweating and dying! Look at divinity walking Talingarde! A mockery. A lie!" Maintaining the elfs stare for a moment Victor has to break of eye contact as a fit of coughing overtakes him. The sound of liquid is in his lungs as he gasps for breath, trying to calm his heart and mind.

Leaning back into his chair he closes his eyes and gathers himself for a moment, finally steadying his breathing he opens his eyes again, his face again devoid of emotion. Looking around the table he finds Melphel again. "It has been a long while now since I grew disillusioned by the Shining Gods preaching, the church holds power, political power, but few of it's followers hold any real power. The shining shield of Talingrad is rusted under a new coat of paint, it does not hold up to inspection." taking another bite of his food and a sip of water Vicor is staring at his plate when he continues, lost in his own mind after his monologue, not really caring if he has the attentions of the others. It felt good to finally say these things out loud, right, somehow.

"As for me, I have a particular interest in anatomy that the inquisition found useful and desirable.." Victor can't help but glance at Dr. Wilken at that, he had heard the man describe his studies and couldn't help but be intrigued by the possibilities, but it was a futile discussion during their last meal. "..it gives me a particular edge in information retrieval. And thinking that the Mitran inquisition has any qualms with torture is just naive, they may not parade it in public, but there exist darker cells than this." Taking a deep Victor shudders with pleasure at the memory of the power he held in those cells. "But I wanted more power, I wanted proof of divinity in the manifestations of powers but through all my studies, nothing. Not an iota in me, or anyone that was around me. So I started praying to other gods, and funnily enough, given the present company, the Dark Prince was the one to answer."

Realizing he's monolouging Victor grimaces and a feeling of embarasment creeps into him, he had never been so up front with anyone like this since Admara. Must be the prospect of finally dying, like he should have done long ago.

Clearing his throat he stares at his plate, slumping in his chair. "Suffice to say, my colleagues didn't take to kindly to the discovery. I expected to have arrived at Branderscar yesterday actually, I never thought they'd have the nerve to publicly try and sentence one from their own ranks." Reaching out to his food, Victor picks at it listlessly.

Twelve they stand, masked and robed, in an unremarkable building in the edge of the capital. None of them knew the identities of the other - that was the point of the mask - though she knows each of the individuals under the concealment. Aylene stands among them, wearing her stolen face under the mask. She supposes that she could wear her normal face underneath the mask, for none would be able to tell. Aylene's image is her preferred one, a prettier and more normal look than the human face she was born with; the monstrous fox is one she prefers to only wear while alone or shifting. Holding the mask of Aylene in place is simple for her, ingrained over the last several years of its usage as her primary identity. The orphan girl that she was is all but gone. She cannot recall the last time she shifted into that face, a face that saw too many bad memories.

The masked cultist, the bored son of an absurdly wealthy merchant, steps forward with a curved dagger. He reaches forward and grabs the man by his chin, pulling it upwards. He makes a piteous sound from behind the gag, but she feels nothing for him. He is a means to an end. Before the cultist can move forward to make the sacrifice, a sudden slamming interrupts them. "In Mitra's name!" The door to their hidden cabal explodes open with a score of knights charging in. She has seen their leader before, a paladin of Mitra by name of Sir Balin. He wades into the cultists, slashing them down with his holy blade. "We will not suffer blasphemers to live!"
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Aylene sits in sullen silence in the shared cell as the others speak. The fact that she had been caught chafed her badly; she retraces the group's weaknesses in her mind and cannot determine the culprit. Seeing as all of her compatriots were killed by Sir Balin and his knights, they are all but eliminated. Death would be a terrible reward for betrayal, though a fitting one from her point of view. If anyone else was alive to investigate, they might suspect her as the sole survivor, but Aylene knows that she cannot be the source of betrayal. Besides, the others were too loyal to her; she had ensured that all of them would die before betraying the cult.

Only her desperate plea to Sir Balin, who foolishly showed the 'poor wretched girl' mercy, had saved her life. The paladin was too decent to execute a surrendered young lady pleading coercion by the now-dead cultists. The Mitrans had interrogated her - harshly - over several days to try to break her will, but her twisted relationship with pain brought them no closer to the truth. Her desperate cries during the torture were for show, as she lied that she knew nothing of the cult's doings. They spoke of bringing in the most talented of their number, only to show that to be an empty bluff. The trial had been a farce, predicated entirely on Sir Balin's testimony that he saw her willingly participating in the murder, and the testimony of the man that they saved. Her barrister had argued that they had not met the burden of proof, and that no one saw her unmasked during the initial charge of the paladin and his men, but he was unpersuasive. 'Perhaps I should have asked for the blonde as my advocate; at least she would do whatever is necessary to ensure my freedom.'

She dutifully changes her clothing when it is her turn to do so. Unfortunately, the eyes of the guards remain upon her. Given the chance while undressed, she would shift into a different face and try to make an escape. She has been looking for the opportunity since her capture, but they have been quite diligent thus far. In lieu of an escape, she watches her fellow captives. Some of them may yet be useful, and some may be easily sacrificed to buy her freedom. She mentally catalogues their strengths and weaknesses: Hecate's innocence and naivete; Doctor Wilken's mind and total lack of morality; the advocate's desperation and vice; and the others. She plots about how she might work within those weakness to use their strengths to her own ends. She simply watches and absorbs information as much as she can; if these are to be her cellmates, she should know them.

When the fallen inquisitor speaks, she sees an opening. "Well, I know their actions firsthand. I was tortured for days, but I told them nothing." She leans forward conspiratorially and whispers to the others; she knows that she must tell some form of the truth for them to trust her enough to help her. "I was captured while in prayer for Norborger, the Reaper of Reputation. They wished to know of other followers, but they could not break me. Pain is an old friend of mine. They should have known better." She leans back, speaking in a normal voice. "My name is Aylene. I fear that I have been sentenced to death, but I frown upon that possibility. Surely I am not alone in that belief. Do any of you welcome death?" She sits back and takes a bite of the breakfast, enjoying the prospect of food before the dangerous challenge that awaits them.

Melphael listened to Victor’s story. His face showing no sings of expression. When the angel blood began to yell and scream of his fall from grace, Melphael’s eyes lit up like fireworks. He could feel the anger within this one, it was strong, and it was powerful. Any hatred he may have harbored towards this one was replaced with wicked ideas of how to use this anger.

When the aasmir spoke of worshiping the Prince of Darkness, Melphael nearly jumped in his seat with excitement.

He, a child of good, has fallen from grace, and now is among us! By the nine circles of hell! I am here by destiny! Here, among potential allies, I have been guided to these fellow warriors of darkness. I must serve as their shepherd, and guide this flock to conquering Talingarde in the name of glorious Asmodeus!

Melphael suddenly clasped his hands in front of his face, closed his eyes and began to chant in a horrid black tongue, so quiet that no guards around the table may hear.

Suddenly, Melphael places his hands down and leans in towards Victor and whispers in urgency.

”Any threats I have made against you, you must forget, they are no longer important. What you must know is that I know that you, me, and everyone at this table are here for a reason, by the Dark Lord's will. You are angry, I can feel it, it gives you strength, but you must use it wisely, sparingly. Hold fast in your faith for the Prince of Hell, for he has guided us all here, and if we hold true, this will not be the day we die. And never, will the day come that we die, so long as we do his good work.”

”Welcome death?” Felrin asks the girl, Aylene. ”There have been times in the past when I considered death a more attractive option than an untold number of years hiding in plain sight, but I never acted on the thought. Now I have found my Master to serve, and I know I chose well. But it causes me to fear death greatly, for I have made a bargain with Him. He has honored his side of it, and I have yet to fulfill my end of the contract. So death now means an eternity of suffering in the pits of Nessus, which would make the tortures inflicted by this fallen servant of Mitra seem like a visit to a Tien pleasure spa.”

Felrin finishes speaking and sits back, his eyes roaming to his now empty plate. He picks up a crumb and eats it, absentmindedly rubbing a spot where his neck and shoulder meet, where it looks like some strange, multi-limbed creature is writhing slowly beneath his skin.

Melphael notices the thing under Felrin's skin wriggle. He is not nausiated as weaker willed creatures might be, he simply nods. His is however, disturbed by the woman's mention of welcoming death, a path, he cannot afford in his current service.

"We all have our price to pay to the dark one." he says to Felrin. The pale elf looks down at his own skin, the feature that gave him his own title. He rubs his hands together and sighs. He must wear his brand for the rest of his life, hopefully, that will be much longer than the Mitrans intend it to be.

He looks back toward Ferlin.

"Some more than others it would seam."

Melphael picks up the last bit of food on his plate and stares at it, it may be the last bite he ever takes. He places it into his mouth and chews slowly, trying to savor every bit of it. He chews until it becomes tasteless, then he gulps the mush of food down his pastel throat. He then sits silently, letting the aftertaste offer what little comfort it can give him.

Asmodeus guide me.

"Not quite m'dear." he replies to Etna in mock disappointment. "Now my newest regret is I'll never have the chance to sing to you the lament of the sad clown, or the triumphant aria of the toreador." he pouts for a moment before breaking his gaze and returning to his meal.

Another round of conversations play out around him, but the Fool again focuses on his last meal. When Aylene finally speaks up, and ask her question, his reply is short. "As seductive as it sounds to have Pharasma stand in naked judgement of me, death is not the sweet release I long for." Paimon coos. "In fact, pain is no friend of mine but a distant lover. To my great disappointment my captors fell me with a single strike. Their arrow flew true, piercing my neck." He crooks his head to reveal the wound. "I will admit though, after I found out what they did to my troupe, for a day and a night I wished it had pierced my heart. But no more" then in an equally conspiratorial tone he says, almost in a hushed whisper. "I await you masterminds' plans. If any of you can think of a way out of this stinking hole then you can have my strength to carry out whatever deed you come up with. I will be your man."

Aylene whispers back to the orc-blooded man, who seems all too eager to help her. "Good. Watch for the right opportunity, and not a moment sooner. They are vigilant, surely, but not every moment. There will be a time in which to act, just as now is a time to wait." She nods at him, pleased to have so quickly found someone willing to follow. While she dislikes being so open with her commands and her plans, she has little choice considering the circumstances. Once she is free, and if he still proves useful, she can use her talents to solidify her control over him.

She turns in her seat to Felrin, ignoring the odd growth on his shoulder. "We'll just have to ensure that you don't have to fulfill your end of the bargain until you're good and ready, then. What did you receive in exchange for so high a price?" She doesn't mention what she heard him say earlier about his ability to change, even though it piqued her interest. His description sounded similar to her own abilities, though her control over the process seems a great deal more refined.

To Tkaara, he says, "I did not claim it would be easy work, or short. Most people are morons who would rather put their trust in holy prayers than in medicine. Those who developed those drugs you mentioned cared more about how quickly they could get their users addicted and thus put more gold in their pockets than in helping anyone." He shakes his head. "The point is most likely moot, but I maintain that science and discovery, the unwavering, unflinching determination to rip aside the veils of ignorance and mysticism, is the mark of the future, and the key to your eventual cure."

To Hecate: "I understand, Fraulein. You would no more renounce your arcana than I would my medicine. The alchemical creations I concoct give me a similar sense of pride."

To Etna and Erevan: "Manners are simply a word for all the little lies we are expected to indulge in to keep everyone happy. I am uninterested. Ever have I been one to speak my mind, in wholesale truth, and thus shall I remain. Should you find it insulting, then you are offended by the truth, and that is your problem, not my own. That said, I have nothing against any of you, as odd a lot as we are. A couple humans, an elf, the blood of goblins, orcs, fiends and angels, your firey heritage, and..." He sniffs. "Whatever the pretty one is," he says, indicating Aylene. "We make a strange company, and I promise you that, should the opportunity present itself, I will prove my worth in any conflict." He turns with a wry expression to Melphael. "Correct me if I am wrong, as I admit religion was never a focus of my study, but is the number thirteen not considered auspicious by your god? A pity one of us will likely die within the hour."

He waves away Felrin's threat. "Be at peace, Herr Oni. I have no more interest in your flesh than I do in..." He indicates the remains of the devoured meat before the man. "I..." As he begins his next sentence, he is cut off by an obvious wave of pain. He suddenly grips the edge of the table, screws his eyes shut, and grits his teeth, clearly tensing every muscle in his body. His breathing becomes deep and growling, and, almost impercptibly, (certainly much more subtly than Felrin's), his muscles seem to bulge and contort in a way that is not entirely natural. No, not now! I need my medicine! If there is to be any chance at life at all, you fool, wait until the proper moment! As suddenly as it began, the Doctor's attack subsides, and he slumps in his chair, breathing heavily. Where his fingers gripped the heavy wooden table, splintery indentations are now clearly visible.

Jalik slowly opens his eyes to realize that the dream he was having was not a dream at all but reality. The aroma of food and excrement now filled the chamber reminding him of his youth but not ruining his appetite. Hours earlier he tried to gather the attention of his imprisoned cellmates checking his bonds and now he checks them again as he looks for food and water around him.

As Jalik tears at what food and drink he can find he begins to study his surroundings and fellow captives.

Out loudly to now one in particular he responds

"Ah the chatter never ends." Jalik clears his throat then stands to get a clear look at his fellow cellmates.

" There are so many pretty voices in our midst. I do so enjoy the sound of a lady." He looks around for the ladies before continuing.

" Enough of that for now... what about our condition anyone?"

Have we at least found a weakness in our captors? They all have them."

Jalik waits for a response while continuing to recoupe his strength from the meager meal provided.

Gabriel finishes up his meal. He sits back and surveys the room.

So many, which one of us it to die today. Who has committed the worse atrocity. Is it me? Is it the doctor? Erevan committed treason as well. I wonder. Why so many here and now. Its like the gods brought us all here, but why? I can only hope I survive this day. Soon I will get my chance to kill again.

Melphael, who was contemplating his fate, raised an eyebrow to the good Ottakar's inquiry.

"Aye, the number 13? Indeed my lord favors it, as he does with the number of 9, and 666. Tiss another reason I belive we were brought here by fate, not chance. You are one of science, a realm I do not bother with, you may not believe me when I say that the dark lord has cast us to this place, together. Perhaps he has found use in your areas of expertease. The realm of science is an intresting tool that I, unlike the Mitrans, will not scoff at and call blasphemy. You shouldn't even be here, and nither should Hecte. My lord respects knowledge, for knowledge is power. The pursiut of it, be it arcane, divine, or physical, should be respected, not feared."

With that, Melphael finishes off his cup of water, gulping down the cool liquid, trying to savor every gulp, as it may be his last drink.

As the discussion amongst the convicted picks up, with even those to rarely speak chirping in, Tkaara's concentration begins to fade. Despite the food, it is evident that her body simply does not have the stamina that her will believes it should. Her head bows for a few moments as she grits her teeth, clearly attempting to will her exhausted body to respond once more. Finally, she raises her head and looks at those sitting about her, her eyes have a more bloodshot appearance than they did when she bowed her head. A second later, the hacking cough that she exhibited the first moments in the common cell returns with a vengeance.

When the cough subsides, she shakes her head and looks around the table:
I am sorry. I do not know what the twisted magic that they have placed on our cell does, but it is not as strong here. In the cell for the first time in months I did not feel the incurable illness that has affected me. Yet, here outside the cell the sickness has returned. I fear that I may not be the best company.

She coughs again and then looks longingly across the table at Ottacar:
I don't suppose you have any of the illicit cures we were discussing? Contrary to what the Mitran rule makers claim, most of the substances have an unnatural way of eliminating my illness for a time, albeit usually a short time not more than a few hours.

Finishing his meal, Erevan wipes his lips and puts what stands for a handkerchief at this particular table to the left of his now empty plate. The fork and knife he places in the center of the plate, the one next to the other. Drinking another sip of water to wash down the last bite, he then turns to the red-haired woman, the last of the thirteen to speak. "Not many welcome death or are in any hurry to meet their end, at least as far as I know, Aylene," he offers his opinion pleasantly. "Certainly none among us I should think, as I would have expected any such individual to have resisted arrest, as it were, and quite strongly at that. At the very least, much more defiantly than any of us here; I am sure those that captured us were allowed to use deadly force if deemed necessary."

"There is no shortage of either willing or capable individuals in here to attempt what you are suggesting," he continues after some more water, savoring its taste and coolness. "In fact, some of the others have already started their own recruiting process," he finishes, turning to look at Melphael and then Gabriel with a mixed look of mild interest and equally mild amusement.

Scene 2: The Bath

As your meal concludes a rather haggard old crone looking woman is led into the dining hall, she is accompanied by two knights who she soon waves off with a couple of hand gestures as if to shoo them away. She comes over toward the long table where you are sitting. She appears to be in her early seventies by human years and walks with a rather old walking stick and is quite stooped over with age. While dressed in rather old garb she seems to have a air of confidence about her.

She first stands behind the doctor and says a arcane word and waves her hand over his head, suddenly the dirt and grime and sweat that has been accumulated without bathing for many days now is completely gone, even his hair now lays in perfect order. The old crone gives a grunt as if in satisfaction and then moves onto the next, until all of you have been properly cleaned and groomed. After finishing with Tkaara last she breaks out into a coughing fit grasping the barristers shoulder to study herself while cunningly dropping a small folded piece of paper into her lap which is unseen by the knights. She then straightens herself and moves away as the knights escort her out of the room.

Before talking, Etna studies the three that didn't speak since then: an ex-Inquisitor, a follower of another deity Etna didn't know about, and one that was behaving with a perfect etiquette.
Of course she slaughtered her entire family: I was under the illusion that there was someone normal beside Hecate.
"I do not desire to die, Aylene" she replies to the red-headed woman "but I don't have the hopes that a lot of you seem to have for an escape. If this Brandescar is so secure, as I've heard from stories and our ex-inquisitor here" she says, gesturing to Victor "I doubt that we are special. And even if we did manage to escape, it worries me what we would do after: leaving Talingrade sounds like the soundest option. Still" Etna straitens up on her seat, grinning "if you want my help, I'll lend it to you. My sentence couldn't get any worse: it could get better, even, as if I was sentenced to a life in the mines I would probably die a painful death in a week or two. An attempt to escape would earn me a nice beheading, I'd wager!"

A brief look of worry crosses Etna's eyes as Tkaara's and the doctor exhibits the symptoms of their illness " You don't have to apologize yourself, Tkaara. And you too, Doctor: was that the illness you were trying to cure?"

When the old lady enters the room to clean them up, Etna stays perfectly still. Waiting for her to leave the room, Etna's comments "Did I was the only one to have a weird feeling? Who was that woman? This situation keeps getting stranger still..." Then, lowering her voice, she whispers to Tkaara "And was I mistaken, or she gave you something?"

Hecate grimaces slightly as Ottakar mentions alchemy; "I never found any success in that field: in my first lesson, I dropped a vial of orichalcum ... Expensive stuff, it turns out!" The girl shakes her head. "I'm not actually very good at the practical side of things, I'm quite clumsy." Hecate winces slightly as she hears herself speak - she's not sure why she's revealing her weaknesses to a complete stranger; but then, they're all going to be dead soon, so what does it matter?

She splutters as she hears Melphael speak in Infernal: all those hours of solitary study, trying to decode what she thought was a dead language in this country, and it turns out to be very much alive! In fact, it's clear that her pronunciation is quite wrong. She takes mental notes as the elf speaks, noting the correct syllable stresses and tonal changes. She doesn't trust herself to reply in kind. If she had more time, she's confident that she'd get it quickly.

Hecate nods at Aylene's mention of Norgorber "I've read of him, he's at least as forbidden as - as the Prince of Nine, but he didn't seem to have much to say to me; maybe if I'd been better at alchemy then Master Blackfingers would have held some appeal. So you managed to charm Sir Balin? I seem to have managed the opposite - maybe you can tell me how you did it...?"

Not being terribly observant, Hecate does not notice the exchange with Tkaara.

Ottakar nods weakly, his brow dappled with sweat from his exertion. Without opening his eyes, he answers Etna's query. "You are correct. The original impetus for my delving into the realm of physiology was an affliction of my own, one over which magic, it would seem, holds no sway. The useless Macarians prayed away night and day, to no avail. Do not concern yourself with thoughts of contagion; there is none. It can be dangerous to those around me in the wrong circumstances, however, which is why it is vital that I get access to alchemical supplies so that I might create a dose of serum to keep it in check. If the proper reagents were available, I could, indeed, distil a dose of silvertongue as well."

After the "bath": "I suppose one must be presentable before being presented before the king. Now all I need is a dose of serum, a shave, and a new pair of spectacles and I will almost feel myself again."

'Amatures.' Victor scoffs at the notion of Aylene and Paimons admitions to having managed to lie to the questioners, his contempt for their conventional methods increasing, they had probably been to timid to try the methods he had been developing for the past year and a half, had they even read his reports?

Thinking it ironic that he was probably 'their best man' that they threatened to bring into Aylene's questioning, how close they had probably come to being on the opposite end of a table of tools, Victor is taken aback by her question, did he welcome death? Glancing at Felnir as he talks about his debt to the dark lord Victor can only suppose that his standing is about the same with the Prince of Hell though he'd only been practicing for that last couple of years instead of the last hundred or whatever it was.

That question struck a cord, forcing him into quiet contemplation as the chatter continues.

Snapping out of his stupor when the old lady comes to make her rounds and clean the prisoners to be presentable to the king Victor looks around the table with a new purpose, if anyone was going to be escaping Branderscar it would be this group, but who? And that was assuming anyone would make it even that far.

Waiting for the lady to finish her rounds Victor sees her drop the parcel into Tkaara's lap, curious, he say nothing 'till the lady is gone and then leans in to Melphael and the table in general and whispers urgently.

"No one wants to die and no one wants to go to Branderscar. Ignore my previous comment, s*&@ on Branderscar. If anyone will escape that place it is this group, you are the most wanted people in the realm, gathered here at one table. If the opportunity presents it self I know no one will hesitate. To hells with recruiting! This is not a game. We all must work together or none will survive."

Gabriel awaits his bath as the old lady makes her rounds.

I guess the court wants us presentable. These games though. It also seems they are messing with us. They want us to question everything. What are they getting at. The food the drink, clothes and a cleaning what is next?

Gabriel takes notice as Victor speaks.

Victor, you have knowledge of the prison then? I have never seen or been there. I only know of the stories told to me by my father. He said escape was impossible and had never been achieved. Do you think different?

"Ah, Herr Doktor, a man after my own heart." Paimon says. "A shave and a comb would be nice. Perhaps a pony for Jalik's pole would help the poor fellow take his mind off of the ladies."

Paimon pretended not to see the sleight of hand happening at Tkaara's seat. Why mention it? It was pretty clear something was up. If he catches Tkaara's eye he will give her the slightest of head nods and continue speaking to the others. He then joins in with Gabriel's questions to Victor, listening with mild interest as the Inquisitor shares his knowledge.

”Unseemly?” Felrin responds in disbelief, ”in this place?...”

...
”I am sorry... I’d prefer not to curb my tongue, but there was no call for violence or the threat of it.”

Amestri’s eyes widen at Felrin’s seeming loss of control, but rather than cringe away, she shifts her legs, her weight on her legs rather than her seat, her muscles playing as she seems to be ready for any assault. As he regains control of himself, she too notices her own reaction and settles herself down into a more seemly position. She nods at him, accepting the apology. ”Perhaps I should offer my own apologies. I am not the only one to be convicted before the King. So each of us would desire to do what they will near the end of their life.”

The redheaded emberkin nods to Gabriel to include him in her apology.

"Ah, a fellow noble, I recal your house, Atezadeh. You may know me as the last scion of House Devel." Melphael cringes on using his false name. He offers his hand to the emberkin.

"I hope my bloody reputation doesn't precede me. How ever, what events would inspire you to...remove your family members from this world, killing one's family is a renowned sin in these parts."

Amestri reaches out her hand, but the chains prevent such an extended movement. Instead she performs a form of seated curtsy only years of practice would have allowed. ”I recall a little of your House from enduring the practice of reading the rolls for rote recollection, but I am afraid I may not have picked up many details. Nor do I know of your reputation beyond what you have shared previously.”

”As for my ‘inspiration’ as you call it for my own deeds... They are the righteous and wrathful vengeance under the guidance of my Lady Eiseth,” she says, pausing for a moment, her face giving a look of pain at memories that seemed to be coming to the fore. ”Love...,” she said softly. ”It was all for love... Oh my Lucien... my true husband, my heart...”

She comes back to the present, looking at the elf for a moment before sighing. ”I am sure the king will not listen, so you may as well be the one to hear before I join my Lady... My family had plans for me, you see. The Peri in the family bloodline had surfaced within me, making me quite the ‘prize’. A dutiful daughter, I was prepared to follow their direction, yet this changed when I met Lucien, a paladin of Mitra,” she paused, her eyes wistful before continuing. ” We wed in secret, telling my family afterwards. As you can imagine, they were furious. I had thought they would be unable to punish me, after all, love cannot be a crime under Mitra, surely. Yet I was mistaken,” her eyes grew dark, her face grim. ”My father had the influence to have Lucien’s superiors send him on more and more dangerous missions, until he was killed in a border skirmish. They didn’t even bother sending his body home for a proper burial, just his armor and a few other effects,” she stopped her speech here, her head bowed in sorrow as she tried to collect herself before she continued.

”With him out of the picture, even though I was ‘spoiled’, they were still able to find a suitor who would marry me. Not the high ranking noble they had been hoping, but he was rich and the dowry would go a long way to increase the power of the House... Thus I was married for a second time under Mitra,” she said, a sour note in her voice.

”I had kept my true husband’s effects, however, and within his souvenirs of his conquests over diabolists and barbarians, I discovered a symbol of Eiseth, Queen of the Erinyes,” she continued, her hand grasping at the air before her chest, where a medallion could sit, ”and through it my path of vengeance. It took years of training in secret and having to... submit... to my false husband, but I perservered... My false husband was easy. He was old and thus his death seemed natural. That was the way to get the family together in one place, unprepared and unarmed. I brought death to the funeral, wearing my true love’s old armor, a fitting tribute in achieving revenge against our betrayers. My father was late...,” a frown and a clenched fist, ”I thought I had succeeded once he had arrived, but my arrow failed to pierce his heart...”

Amestri sighed, blinking away her memories and looking at the elf again. ”And thus I am here and likely my father will be in the stands to bear witness to my sentencing.”

The emberkin remains silent, looking down at her plate as the crone comes in to 'bathe' them, the magic washing over her, drying her tears.

Jalik stands as tall as his five and a half foot frame can to welcome the witch that will clean him. He closes his eyes and awaits.

His mind races... What of this old lady? Who is she and what role does she play for the captors? hmmm I feel she reaks of arcane magic yet strangly I am excited that she is here.

As she approaches Jalik tenses up and speaks softly to her with his eyes closed.

"Lady, you have seen your days and now you help end ours. May I ask you a question? "

Jalik waits for a few seconds as she cleans him then quickly asks before she moves on,

"What is the day like today? Can you see the sun shine upon the fields and smell the fresh air as its breezes make their way through to the castle?"

Once she moves on Jalik responds, "I am myself once again."

Jalik then looks to the others in the cell before speaking.

"Paimon is it, I thank Asmodeus for the order of things and at the top of that order from birth is your mother. You do realize that our ladies provide life to us all and without them you would not exist."

Jalik looks at the aasimarian as speaks directly,

"Aasimarian gentlemen you are the first one in this cell that I have heard that I directly agree. We should work together as our survival depends on it. Looking around the room I see varied talents but limited will."

Tkaara's eyes narrow slightly when the old woman arrives. Just her appearance was sufficient to raise suspicion in the former barrister's mind's eye. She had heard many stories of the Royal Court. And, while she could understand Sir Balin's insistence that all be properly clothed, as opposed to being dressed in rags and pajamas before the king, allowing an old woman in to use what was clearly arcane magic was more than a little intriguing. This suspicion was only heightened when the guards allowed the woman to approach several men, and women, who had openly admitted to being convicted of gruesome murders without the guards being close by to protect her.

------

Once the old woman left the area, Tkaara smiled and sat up taller once more, apparently having regained some of her strength, or perhaps having regained the will to ignore her illness.

Turning to those who had spoken little in the cell, and then once more looking about the others with whom she had been speaking earlier, she posed a general question:
So many of you seem to have been convicted of horrid violent crimes. Why did you choose to do so? What caused you to believe that a quick murder would be less painful than a well conceived plan to slowly cause those you hated so to fail before their peers?

She looks to Amestri: Would it not have been more enjoyable to watch your father's businesses fail? To spoil his crops? To see his name despoiled before those nobles he so desired to please? Now, his name will be spoken with reverence for the great tragedy that befell the family. I doubt that this is what you desired. But, this is what you have created by your hasty actions.

She then looks to the pale elf:
You claim to have slaughtered an entire village. Does this truly benefit the First? He is not the god of murder. He is one in search of souls. Murdering good people simply sends them to the upper planes where they are welcomed with tears to the realms of angels.

Why did you not seek to convert these folk? You are intelligent, I would have though that you with your years of experience would have slowly corrupted them. Caused them to see the enjoyment in violent games. In controlling others. In praying to the Dark Lord. If you had done this, then when the Mitrans had come to clean up the corruption, all those souls would have gone to Hell. To your patron's realm.

With that she goes back to chewing on something, swallowing every so often as though she is attempting to consume something that just does not wish to go down.

Felrin nods at Ottokar’s response to his threat, saying, ”I’m glad we understand each other…” Before he can finish speaking, the doctor begins to suffer some kind of fit. Felrin reaches across the table as if to offer some aid, but his contact with the Dark Prince is somehow blocked by their cell and he cannot do anything to help. Once the doctor recovers and offers an explanation of what afflicts him, Felrin responds, ”You and I appear to have more in common all the time, as different as we are. And fortunate it is for our cellmates that neither of our conditions are contagious.”

When the old woman comes in to clean them, Felrin sits nervously, as if willing his morphing form to stay still and not attract attention. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when she moves on to the next prisoner. Once their magical ablutions are complete and the woman is gone, Felrin turns to Aylene and says, ”You ask what I received from my Master? You have just seen it – he has kept me hidden from the Mitrans, even while right in front of them. You saw the changes I was experiencing while we ate, no? When the crone came in, the changes stopped. I am still odd to look at, even ugly, but there were no shifting, cracking bones, scars appearing or peeling off of a sudden, my eyes did not change color as she looked at me. All of these things and more can happen when I am changing, yet when it matters most, when I am under observation, they stop. I have prayed to Him for decades to keep me hidden, and he has done so, stilling the changes when I am being watched, even when I don’t know it sometimes.”

A reverent look comes into his eyes and he continues, ”In short, He has kept me safe for decades, for more than a human lifetime. I must see His will done here in Talingarde in return.”

Amestri tilts her head to the side as she looks at Tkaara. "What do I know of the workings of business, or the tending of crops that I would be capable of such an intricate scheme?" she asked. "And I care little for his 'good name'. Perhaps it could have come about if I had been called by some divine being who is concerned with business or crops but, alas, I was called by the Whore Queen of vengeance and wrath, and the guidance I received was in furtherance towards those concerns." She pauses as a thought occurs to her.

"That being said," she continued, including Etna after her interjection, "perhaps you two may have something, if not your intended meaning. My father's actions brought about the death of my true love, while my actions brought about the demise of the family that he loves. Perhaps it is just that he survived to witness and feel the loss that I had endured. He may be a 'martyr' but he suffers greatly."

She nods at Tkaara and Etna, "My thanks for your perspectives, they have given me things I can ponder as we await our sentence."

Etna raises an eyebrow when Hecate splutters out of nowhere "Are you all right, Hecate? Did something happen?"
Hm, maybe someone said something that piqued her interest? I couldn't really put my finger on it, as we're discussing practically everything.

_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_

Etna listens intently to Amestri's story, keeping at bay her own instinct to comment the Peri's story.
Love and family problems, uh...It seems I'm not the only one.
When she's about to express her thoughts, Tkaara intervenes. Waiting for the blond woman to finish, Etna turns to Amestri "I agree wholeheartedly with my fellow barrister here. Murder always seemed a swift mercy to me at best, and a terrible waste of resources at worst. Trust me when I say that we have more things in common than you imagine: It was the love that I had for my father to push me to do what I did, and I too searched vengeance on one of my parents. But was all of your family guilty for what your father did? By doing that, you only made your father a martyr, when you could have made him suffer the rest of his life." she says to the Emberkin, offering her a faint smile devoid of disapproval.

"He is more the silent type, that one, so do not fret that he has not spoken to you," Erevan quips to Hecate as she talks of Norgorber, the words he speaks complemented with an almost mischievous wink. It would seem that having eaten and then cleaned up, his mood has improved further. Still, what awaits them is never far from his mind, no matter how adept he may be at hiding it.

"Varied talents but limited will," he repeats softly, Jalik's words catching his attention, diverting it and focusing it on the hobgoblin for a moment. He seems to study the man, taking a moment before finally speaking. "What makes you speak of limited will, Jalik? Is it the decidedly not suicidal way none of us is jumping at the knights' collective throats? Perhaps the fact we did not take the old woman hostage, bargaining her life for our freedom, if a mere old woman she truly were?" He chuckles briefly, then he sighs. "There is will, that much is easy to discern. It could be that some of us bide our time and study not only our captors, but each other as well, instead of concocting plans with neither the necessary intelligence nor the resources to put them to action. But that does not necessarily mean we are not interested in escape and freedom and, perhaps, just perhaps, a bit of vengeance thrown in for good measure."

"And varied talents? Truth be told, we do not really know what each of us is capable of, where his area of expertise lies. Sure, some have spoken of certain abilities or skills of theirs, but still... For example, what are my talents, pray tell? Besides talking that is," he continues, winking at Hecate once again as the last few words leave his mouth. "I will owe you a silver if you guess them accurately enough." While he speaks never once does he raise his voice, instead keeping it calm and even.

"Divine lady who speaks so often and carefully, I will answer your questions."

Jalik clears his throat then with the most dignity he can provide from chains he continues to speak to Tkaara and hopes Erevan will listen,

"You ask us of our crimes but you assume they are violent in nature. I may look imposing with my tremendous height and bulging veins but I speak in jest. I am quick of feet and mind with a knack for capturing the attention of others one way or another. You may not like me for my looks or my openness but they are both effective tools n my trade. My tongue is the weapon that kills and this time it lead to my capture as it has a few times in my days amongst humans."

Jalik looks about before continuing louder than before. "I commited my crime for SPITE of a people to PROUD to see anyone but their own walk amongst them. My people have lived for eons in the cold harsh lands of the North not allowed to roam near humankind. I do not hate humans but the humans of this land should not assume that they will rule these lands forever. So I ask why shouldn't I come here and turn their own against them? Lastly as I do not murder without cause I do not hesitate to undermine them to kill one another."

Jalik now finished with his response tries to sit at ease for a few moments.

Jalik appears to have been in this predicament before as he appears at ease or even comfortable in chaions. Now sitting with weight distributed in such a manner as to limit strain on any particular limb he answers the highly talkative human directly.

" Sir with such decorative speech I applaud your efforts to understand me but like many others of your own kind you assume I am a beast without intelligence clawing and scrapping at an opportunity to tear a throat out or rip from my bonds. This is the farthest from the truth. You also ask if I can figure your talents for a silver well I can."

Jalik rolls his neck and pops his fingers before looking directly into the eyes of his target.

"You have spoke often to many but have said naught since we arrived. The red skinned and the pale elf have caught your attention so they must threaten you in some way. You move with tension yet appear to be calm. Your arms, movements, and mannerisms identify you as a man of melee or at least blood thirst. I would say you a cold blooded killer maybe an assassin for the highest dollar. Am I close?"

Gabriel perks up as Tkaara asks about the crimes commited.

So you think me a fool then, my plan was grand. A murder here a murder there yes, but I sacked three northern Garrisons. Stealing weapons, armor and supplies. We used this to support our bandit group and traded and supplied the Bugbears north of the wall. The north has become soft behind the wall. An army that could breath the wall would indeed put the kingdome into termoil. One does not get sentenced to High Treason for a few simple murders. If not hung this day I will be drawn a quartered after a brief stay at Brandiscar. Well if found guilty I suppose.

Gabriel speaks with a passion and sense of regret. He doesn't regret the actions taken, he regrets not finishing the plan.

Tkaara raises her eyebrow in subtle confusion:
Perhaps my tongue is not as skilled as it once was.

Once Jalik and Gabriel have finished their statements, Tkaara carefully places her hands in her lap and looks from the hobgoblin to the red skinned half-fiend, and then back.
Perhaps you misunderstood me. I never insinuated that all here had committed murder or similar violent crimes. Or that such actions were foolish. In fact, I did no such thing and we know the young wizard in training was arrested in her night clothes for studying the wrong subjects. As far as the doctor is considered, well, let just say his research methods were clearly unorthodox

What I intended by my prior statement was to inquire why several here chose to kill many. In one case their entire family, in another a village of people. With all the talk of the First, including several who have inferred that they not only follow the Dark Lord, but in fact have been granted profane powers by him, I wished to understand why they had chosen to simply slaughter innocent citizens of Talingarde? If their desire is to destroy this land, a few killings here and there are not going to accomplish this objective. If their goal is to increase the souls sent to the lower planes, murdering innocents is unlikely to cause the result they seek.

If it is the downfall of Talingarde that is sought, then it will require a far greater force than us few, a greater force which I am unaware of outside of perhaps Cheliax. On the other hand, if it is the downfall of Mitra, well then, as I referenced before, the slow corruption of the population so that the king and inquisitors no longer have the support of the people would be far more effective.

"Not to antagonize you good folk with your murdering and pillaging, but I have to agree with Tkaara. In many cases, killing in this life only ensures the prosperity of the victim in the next, so I'm told. Of course I'm not much of a killer myself. I've never sent a soul to Pharasma's stair. As Paimon speaks, he runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to at least pull the knots out of it. "I was an actor once..." he murmers fitfully as he does so.

After he's done coming he looks to Gabriel, half answering for Tkaara, half answering for himself. "I do not think you a fool, sir. I just believe, as I've said earlier, that you lack finesse. As the pale elf over their boasts, it only takes a little direction to turn a savage into a soldier. Right now you are a savage. If you survive, perhaps one day you can be a proper soldier in Hell's armies." he paused for a moment. "I had an analogous experience when I first took to the stage. Why memorize scripts? Why plan my movements? Improvisation was spontaneous, free, and always surprising... You cannot build experience by just running out there and expecting to do well. Improvisation works for a while, but only when you start planning, only when you start practicing will your true ability shine through. In my case, only when I began acting out the roles of Bartleby the Bard or Beedle the Scrivener did I truly become good at my craft. Only when your plan resembles more than an outline will it shine through and you'll see your armies from the North overrun us poor civilized folk."

"Oh my..." says the Fool. "I'm not sure if meant to say all of that... I can be long winded."

I see then. If you think me a savage that is fine. I do what I need to to survive. Yes my plan was to bring down the land. A stong enough force that gets through the watch wall will decimate the north. The army is spread through the land. I understand your thinking though. This would not be enough. Surely the land would come together under the king and kick the army out. This is where my plan is lacking.

Jalik finished with his talk with the humans turns to Gabriel.

"Murder and plans of treason against the King. Do I know you from business this past year?" Jalik laughs as he thinks of his own plans.

"As I have said many times humans are weak minded, at least the ones who rule this kingdom. I too believe an army from the North could take this whole kingdom. I say not a rebellion but an invasion.

He continues after looking at the humans nearby,

"North of the wall you supply the bugbears, what about the hobgoblin tribes?" My people... yes I am a hobgoblin from the Daweri clan. Behold!" Jalik stands in grandeur before laughing again at his own speech.

Jalik takes a deep breath and begins,

"Let me tell you my story and how I was captured. It all started when I convinced a small town and their human leaders that the King and his people where nothing more than common thieves. I told him, the King did nothing more than sit on his mighty throne collecting taxes from the hard working people of the Kingdom. I asked for what, protection? It was definitely not for the good of the people. All the while the king and his men bathed in the people's gold while devouring feasts of food. The King's men care not that the locals starve and live in horrible conditions. He doen;t provide education or activities worthy of the people hard earned coins. I guess I was too good of a story teller as before I could work out the details and include a larger force in the plan the stupid fools got overly anxious openly plotting an attack on the King and his men. I am sure they traded their freedom for my capture or so I believe."

Jalik relaxes again now finihsed with his story.

"Gabriel maybe we can work together and make your plan come true."

”I murdered people,” offers Felrin, ”though not through any plan. I wished merely to go undetected, and when I was found out, I sought to eliminate those who could make known my true nature. So I killed them and tried to run – but I did not get far. As far as I know, I am wanted only for the murders, not for my infernal blood.”

Turning to the dramatic half-orc and the silver-tongued advocate, Felrin continues, ”Paimon, Tkaara, you both make a good point. I’ve learned I can kill when I must, and even take some pleasure in destroying Mitrans as I do so. But it must serve a higher purpose to be truly worthwhile. As I’ve said, I have some ability to change my appearance. A few times I have masqueraded as someone else entirely to accomplish a goal or escape from some danger. If we manage to escape from this place and work together, I would greatly enjoy using that ability to the detriment of Talingarde. Perhaps we could craft a script together, Paimon, and I put on the face and costume of a captain of the guard, a duke, even the king? I could spread corruption through the kingdom with the stroke of a pen. I could pass as a servant, enter the chambers of Sir Balin and his ilk, and devastate the Mitran state by killing them as they slept.”

”I have been alone and unsure how to apply my skills without being caught and killed. But with a group to work with, to plan with, we could accomplish so much.”

I didn't negotiate the trades Jalik. Our leader did that. From what he said there was a great Bugbear leader that was uniting the tribes of all the goblinoids. They have an army, they just need weapons.