The prison carriage rocked as it raced across the rough path approaching Branderscar Prison. You forlornly look out at the former coastal castle turned prison, its main spire reaching out to the dusky sky. Your thoughts turn inwards, contemplating the circumstances that brought you here today.
“Guilty!” the judge had intoned, frowning behind a stern face, almost glad to be rid of you. Branderscar Prison. The sentence had but one meaning. You were deemed wicked and irredeemable.
“Take a good look scum,” the guard’s mocking voice breaks through your thoughts. “That’s the last sight of the free world you’ll ever see!” The guard and his companion break into hearty laughter as the shades are pulled down on the prison carriage, leaving you in the dark – alone with your dark thoughts.
Shortly, the carriage rolls to a stop and the doors are thrown open. Before you have a moment to adjust, rough hands grab at you and a hood is thrown over your head . You hear shackles snap in place around your wrists and legs as you are half-carried, half-dragged by guards who have done this countless times before.
The hood comes off and you find yourself in a small room, being held down by two guards as a third, this man, approaches you holding a red hot branding iron. The cruel smirk on his face makes his intentions obvious.
You are branded upon your arm with a runic F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’ and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the great and eternal love of Mitra and his chosen mortal vassals.
“Take this filth out of my sight. Justice will be served soon enough!” he proclaims as the hood goes back up over your head, blocking all sight. A sharp blow on the back of your head and you lose track of the next few hours.
Upon awakening, you find yourself chained and shackled in a communal cell, dressed in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. Manhandled and mistreated, any finery you once possessed is either ruined or
long lost.
No special treatment has been given any prisoner – male or female, commoner or noble – all of the forsaken are bound and imprisoned together.
Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain. Your arms are secured by manacles to the wall behind you. A guard is posted right outside the cell day and night. Little thought is given to long term accommodations. At Branderscar, justice comes swift and sure.
Escape seems hopeless. You have been well searched and every attempt to conceal anything on your person has failed. And if you could somehow slip your bonds and fly out of this prison, where would you go? Who from your former life would want anything to do with the forsaken? Despised, alone and shackled – all that you can do now is await your doom. For each of you, your old life is over. For each of you, hope is a fading memory. For each of you, justice will be fairly meted. And who can blame fair Talingarde after what each of you has done?
Guilty. So the judge says, so it must be. Darvik Harren was at first surprised at the verdict, then furious. Now? Considering what he has experienced how could he have expected anything else? The Tait family was connected somehow, how strongly he could only imagine. They had finally run his family store out of business, ruined his father and now invalid mother, and even his brother and sister had to work for the Taits just so they could eat.
However he was finished with the Taits. He killed Culven and got the revenge that he sought for so long. Justice was done, but why couldn't anyone else see past the bribes and influence? Could no one stand up to the temptation of gold and power? The system failed. The church of Mitra has failed. If they are what represents good then I am surely evil. For being so kind they surely know how to dish out the punishment.
Darvik's thoughts are broken by the searing pain and the smell of his burning flesh. Between the muffled screams of agony the elf spits, I will wear this brand proudly! Mitra failed me! You do not know what true justice is! Darvik then succumbed to either the pain or the blow to the head, which it was he does not recall.
Upon awakening in the cell, he sees the figure of another that had been sealed to the same fate as himself. No sense in finding out who that is. I had no friends on the outside, why made any in here? We won't be alive long enough anyway. As the days pass and more Forsaken are brought in he makes no effort to initiate any contact. Harrin seems resolved to his fate. Revenge on those who placed him within these walls will not come in this lifetime and Darvik Harrin knows this now.
The universe sure had an odd way of working itself out. Learning all the laws of the devil hierarchy, and then being subjected to the fools' attempt at justice. The tiefling shook his head at the sentence. His tongue remained still, even as he scowled at the judge. You, dear judiciary, are the guilty one. You follow the most cowardly of gods and men. And one day...that world will fall.
A similar series of thoughts crossed his mind, as he marveled briefly at the sights of the massive prison. The academic briefly mused as to how many of his kind had crossed this very threshold. How many had been lost to the depths of this place, separated from the warm embrace of Hell's service. He struggled briefly against the bonds, knowing there was no escape this soon. No hope for respite this early into his trial.
Morlos stiffened as the hook was shoved roughly over his head. Fire, he could handle, but darkness was not something he was ever a fan of. And as the hood was removed many moments later, he grinned briefly, knowing the smell of burning flesh well. "Fire for the hell-spawn? Is that the plan?" He taunted the man carrying the iron. The glove that struck the corner of his mouth was well deserved, the prisoner knew, but it also showed how easily these fools were manipulated. A gasp crossed his lips at the burn, grimacing as they shoved the iron deeper into his skin. There was both joy and pain in the moments before unconscious stole him away; they would not break him so easily.
Dreams of Mitrans with pitchforks terrorized his period of unconsciousness, forcing him to gasp out once again, as the back of his tender skull made contact with the stone cell wall.
----
"Mitrans be damned!" Morlos curses out as he regains consciousness. His hand reflexively moves towards the pained skull, only to find it held back by the shackles on arms and legs. "Well, they've sure given a priest a fine welcome, haven't they..." the tiefling muses, as he gains his bearings of the cell.
I'll remember that from now on. Still lots of ouchies! Mean, evil peoples scarring such beautiful flesh. Life now has a new goal! Find a way to remove the acid burns. Good thing clerics excel at that sort of stuff.
His arm still throbbing where the lay the branded "F" , edges red and angry. Flexing his arm, the pain intensified, Avingen's jaw clenched, the muscles standing out in sharp relief as the pain brought back the memory of his deliverance to Branderscar....
...and forsooth, this holy chamber has no choice but to render a verdict of Guilty in the Attempted murder of one of Taligarde's finest soldiers, responsible for the protection... Avingen stopped listening to the corpulent blowhard occupying the Magistrates chair in the Holy court. Memorizing the man's every feature, Avingen wanted to recognize this man should fate deliver his false judge into hands.
"...sentenced to death by beheading in the royal prison of Branderscar, may Mitra have mercy upon your soul." the Magistrate intones solemnly, his eye meeting Avingen's for the first time. What he sees there frightens him so badly that he screeches for the guards to remove the Forsaken.
... darkness flees as the hood is removed, revealing a torch-lit room. Three men commence to press the brand into his arm, Avingen's body thrashing in pain, all volunatry control gone; with the exception of his eyes, locked upon the face of the Warden. Avingen's gaze promises dire retribution should the chance be granted. The Warden just smirks; he's seen the same look hundreds of times, he's quite used to it.
...stumbling into the cell, shackles so close together a normal stride is impossible. Escape seems impossible, his fate all but assured.
Sitting in the gloomy cell, Avingen looks about and sees a few tenants had been moved in before him. Not too interested in the others, he exchanged a nod or two with the others that met his gaze, otherwise he remained within his own misery. Occasionally, without care for the discomfort of those closest to him in the chain, he would stand and commence a series of muscle exercises; the only thing allowed by the shackles and chains. Done, he would sit and resume his brooding silence.
“Guilty!” the judge had intoned, frowning behind a stern face, almost glad to be rid of you. Branderscar Prison. The sentence had but one meaning. You were deemed wicked and irredeemable. You are sentenced to be burned at the stake until dead for your crime of Heresy against the almighty Mitra and her servants. Do you have anything to say to seek redemption and perhaps at least save your motal soul?
Gregor had looked at the Judge and around at the others and spit on the ground. before looking up defiantly saying Mitra and this court be damned!!! You will see me again and I WILL show you what real justice looks like!
The memory flickered through his foggy mine as he hung there on the wall. That had caused him a right good beating.
He tried to open a swollen eye and stirred against his chains. and the next memory came...The hood removed, large guards holding Gregor down as a branding iron was heated up. The simpering smile of Thomas Blackerly. Gregor had heard of him as Sherrif of Wolfhelm. He looked up at the unpitying eyes as the man had pressed the burning iron with the white hot F into his arm. He had bit his lips hard until blood had ran down his chin to avoid screaming out...but in the end the pain overcame his resolve and he had screamed in agony....for that they would pay even more. Ya bastards. wait til Im free Ill tear your hearts out and feed them to the dogs. Ill piss on your corpses. Ill shove those holy symbols so far up yur arses You'll wish they were smaller and less pointy. I'll.... His string of curses had been cut off my a punch to the face.
This had received him another in a long line of beatings. He had not cooperated in the least. Fighting every second he was awake.
So it was that he had been unconscious for days upon arrival in his cell.
He slowly cracked a swollen eye open and looked around. He was chained hand an feet to a cold wall and wore nothing but his skivvies. uhhhh]/b] he started and glanced around at his cell mates.
[b]well a sorry lot we are. was all he had the strength to utter at first...
Morlos grins slightly, sharp teeth showing in the smile, as his lizard like tail swishes irritably behind him. "Oh, I wouldn't say we're too sorry, if we ended up in here. After all, only the best of the best make it in here."
The tiefling's wiry frame lounges slightly against the wall, not bothering to test the bonds. Even if he could break them, there wouldn't be any good in it. He can't get free, and the time has not yet arrived for any range of escape.
"What are your names, my fellow black hearts?" He turns, looking at those in the large cell.
As the halfling approached the branding station, his eyes darted back and forth. "Guys, you have the wrong halfie. It was my brother ...I've stolen in my time but he's crazy, he's a murderer! I heard he worships the Fallen! I love Mitra! Please, no, don't! AIIIIIIIIGHHHHHHHHH"
He didn't bother talking much after that. What's done was done. The rich f~+@ers had screwed him over again. One by one he watched his cell be filled with humans and the like. Some kind of devil-spawned creature, too. That one started speaking, asking questions.
"What's it to you, fresh meat?"
A smirk crosses his lips at the mention of fresh meat. "Oh, a feisty one! I'm simply curious, since I'm sure no one wants to be stuck here and meet an untimely end."
Gregor forced his eyes open and tried to speak through his parched dry mouth, the words coming out harsh and gritty.
He eyed the others in the room and shook his head...when he looked at Morlos he grumbled and then asked What the hell are you?
"You got a way out? I'll give you more than my name for that. Those horns gonna zap us to paradise? I doubt it."
Morlos grimaces as he shifts slightly and feels the shackle rub the acid burn on his arm. "Well, Hell is actually an appropriate choice of words there. My new is Morlos, and I am simply one who decided to forge a closer connection, even than those of my nature, with the Devils. Simply put, I am a member of Mephistopheles' clergy."
He chuckles at the halfling's harsh words. "Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeves. Patience being the first. If I can get my hands on a holy symbol, then there'll be many chances and ways to escape. And after that...well, Mitra will be first on my list of things that must go."
ehh don trust no gods no-how. Cant see a symbol of Meph-is-whos-its just being delivered to your doorstep here. Now let me get my hands on a guard and that will serve us well Im thinkin. Gregor Kardoff. Huntsman. Sherrif of Wolfhelm...err Ex-Sherrif of Wolfhelm I mean.
as he looked around he could feel himself becoming more alert by the second as the grogginess abated. It seemed his body had done a good bit of healing the last few days. Now the hurt was purely cosmetic...
"Mitra can't be trusted, that I'll agree. But the Devils at least keep their word and don't play with kiddy gloves on. " He slowly shakes his head. "Hell will come for its faithful. We must only have patience."
A sharp banging on the door, likely from the hilt of a weapon, interrupts your conversation. The slot at eye level in the door slides open with an angry set of eyes visible on the other side by those facing the door. Shut up in there maggots! I can't hear myself think above your chatter. There's no talking allowed! Quiet down before I come in there and gag your ugly yaps.
The slot slams shut and you hear some vague muttering between two voices before hearing footsteps fading away.
Well, Gregor there has it right anyway. Can't trust gods. Even Mitra has corruption within her ranks. The elf finally speaks with a low, soft tone. Looking at the tiefling he adds, Don't believe in devils either. Sorry. Patience I've run out of over the last couple of decades. Otherwise maybe I wouldn't be here.
The tiefling keeps his voice low and raises a manicured eyebrow. "Really?...You don't believe in devils? And yet, you're staring at the spawn of one?"
The cleric shakes his head. "Oh ye of little faith..."
Sitting forward, so that his face no longer was hidden in the shadows "The Mitrans are as self serving and corrupt as any worshipper of the lords of hell. Why else would such a fine sample of society find themselves shackled and chained in the nation's most notorious prison. "
Avingen chuckles to himself "Whomever you worship, we're now the Forsaken, and no one's going to get us out of this hole except us."
"Devils." Jasper speaks in a low, deep voice that seems to resonate through the walls. He tests his bonds again, but they don't seem long enough to allow him to fully extend his tall frame. "Only fools don't believe in devils. They're real, as real as you or I." He shifts slightly, causing his brand to flare up. He'd taken it stoically, without making a single sound. Pain hadn't bothered him in the past, why should it now?
"True devils, true demons? They're the source of true power. No other being on any plane is capable of such awe-inspiring things." He smiles coldly, remembering Jaxterin, waiting for him on whatever plane he came from. "I am Jasper Vraxis, and am not afraid for you to know that, considering we are all going to die soon."
Well Jasper, I don believe in just walking into a fiery end. Im goin out fightin.
He starts eyeing his chains testing their strength
These chains look pretty sturdy. But sooner or later they will have to free me....
"We will not die yet. My name is Morlos Hesani, formerly of the Asmodeus temple in Ghastenhall. Anyone have an idea on what the guard rotations are like? Or what the food rotation is like?
He would stroke his chin, were his hands free. "Eventually they will slip up. We will not die in this place. Not now. Not today."
Fiends I know exist, but truly powerful demons? I've seen no proof. Same for devils, gods, angels, whatever otherworldly thing you can come up with. There are elves and men and halflings and other races, but no gods or demons. None that I've seen. Perhaps in the few days I have left I will be shown otherwise, and if I must meet one to escape this place I would welcome it.
Harrin tries to adjust his position once more, never finding one he seems happy with. Until then, I'll be right here.
A few hours after your warning to keep it down or be gagged, you hear a familiar noise out in the hallway - muffled struggles, agony, someone being slid across the floor but no new prisoner is added to your cell.
Shortly thereafter, the door to your cell is unlocked and you observe two guards walking in - the one who branded you, accompanied by a tall lanky one.
Two other guards stand at the door, crossbows ready in case of trouble. One holds a signal horn at his side. The man who branded you holds out a sack Dinnertime maggots! I got good news and bad news. The BAD news is that dinner tonight is Horse$hit... He pauses, waiting to see if someone asks the obvious question...
Morlos motions with his hands for the guard to continue. Obviously the fool was wanting to tell his story, so it was best that he got it over with quickly.
"I just wanna say how f*~&in glad I am that my last days will be spent in f&*%ing debate club."
Before the guards arrive, Jasper chuckles at the elf. "If demons and devils do not exist, then what have I been binding to my will all my years?" His eyes snap to the door as the guards approach, and he falls silent, watching. He refuses to ask the obvious question.
And I'm happy you're so glad. Darvik mutters under his breath to Charlie's comment. Happy indeed.
*Hummph*...Demons...Devils....Gods...none compare to the the harshness of mans actions and deeds. Ive seen it. It's been my distinct pleasure to mete out punishment for it.....
Seeing there's no question incoming, the sergeant haumphs and continues Bad news - there's horse$hit for dinner - The GOOD news... is that there's a lot of it! He chuckles heartily at his own joke, his accompanying guards joining in more so to cater to their superior rather than any actual mirth.
The guards start putting stales piece of bread in each prisoner's hand. Wouldn't expect you lot to appreciate my refined sense of humor anyway! At least you idiots recognize authority when you see it. Tomas Blackerly runs a tight ship and don't you forget it. That fool Mathias might think he's the boss, but don't you lot forget who's *really* in charge. sneers Tomas. Not those two! - indicating Gregor and the summoner as the guard goes to hand them their meal. They can go hungry tonight. Bring them along - special interrogation!
One of the guards from the door walks in to help the one in the cell as they frog-march the two prisoners out of the cell.
You're led left and then right, into a room and then finally left into another adjoining room.
You recognize the room you finally end up in - a single table, four chairs with built-in restraints. This is the room where Tomas branded you. You can almost smell the faint odor of burning flesh in the air.
Both of you are strapped in to chairs on opposite ends of the room. Tomas double-checks to ensure you're secured and turns to his entourage. Guards - Outside! His escort leaves as the door shuts behind them.
Tomas approaches Jasper, casually cracking his knuckles. You - stabbing the summoner's chest with a finger - are a con man. I've known the likes of you - lying, cheating, building your fortunes fleecing others. The life you lived, the life you knew, is at an end. He turns his back on Jasper. But... there are still ways you can improve the life you are going to live. Better accommodations perhaps? Better food? Maybe even some... companionship. He turns back. A man of your means surely has his stash squirreled away somewhere. How much gold did you hide away before you got caught? It'll be of no use to you now... but I would be inclined to make life a little easier on you if you share it...
As Jasper considers the offer, Tomas walks over to Gregor, And you... the bully of Wolfhelm! Your days are almost at an end vermin. *I* am the law here... and I'll make you the same offer. Do what I ask and perhaps I can make your final days a bit easier. That demon-spawn in the cell with you... I want an example made of him. His very existence is an affront to us all. He's not human like you or I! Break his fingers, smash his nose in, make it so he fears us... fears ME - and your final days will go by a lot easier.
Jasper thinks for a moment, carefully formulating his response. "Very well, he says finally. "What you need to do is go to the forests outside Ghastenhall. Deep in the woods, I've left markers pointing to my stash. I've squirrelled away three, four thousand gold coins. But you'll never find them without me. You'd have to take me with you, so I can use my magic to lead the way. I've hidden it so well, even I can't find it without magic. I'll take you there."
Upon hearing Gregor's response, he scowls - I thought we could discuss things like grown men - what with both of us being on the side of law at one time. He shakes his head. Why can't you be more reasonable like Jasper there? Do you think name calling will help your cause? You speak to Tomas Blackerly! Not some backwoods country hick. A vein pops in his neck and you see some spittle start to fly out as he literally starts ranting.
You he smacks Gregor with a gloved fist across his face do not make the offers here. You *smack* are *smack* in *smack* no POSITION *SMACK* TO *SMACK* MAKE *SMACK* DEMANDS!! *SMACK*
He steps back from Gregor's bruised and battered face panting heavily Who's the sissy boy now sherriff?
Guards! Get this filth out of my sight and back to his cell. I'll personally be there to watch him burn in 2 days!
As the rest of you hang around in the cell, the guards drag in Gregor and hang him back in place. He looks pretty rough.
"Ok, amateur night. Sounds like some of you got magics."
Morlos shrugs. "You could call it that. Not much, but I do have some minor things I can do. I'm not sure what I'll be able to do without a symbol of some sort, or at least getting close to one of our foes."
"Noted. Anyone useful now?"
"Noted. Anyone useful now?"
"Alright, I suppose I understand well enough. I'll draw you this map to the best of my memory. You'll have to release my hands so I can do it properly, of course. Also, you did take me from my dinner, and I do have trouble recalling such things on an empty stomach. A small snack would help greatly, and make sure I get everything right. Two slices of buttered bread would do nicely, I think, and a small glass of water to slake my thirst. And some paper for this map, of course. You fetch them for me, and I'll draw you this map, alright?" He gives Tomas a pleasant smile, as if talking to an old friend.
Looking at the halfling, Darvik stays quiet. My limited spellcasting will not do us any good here, not without components. Upon seeing the return of Gregor he grimaces to himself. Hopefully I do not have to go through any ordeals like that man just did.
I see the deeds of man has shown themselves to you again, Gregor. If only we could lay down the law upon them in return.
"We will find a way. As unfortunate as it is, they really want us to be quiet. Well....if they don't like noise, then we can give them a big show." Morlos swishes his tail.
"If we can knock one down among us, I can get their keys."
As the guards come to take him out he forces up his head and glares at Blackerly meeting him eye to eye so the torturer can see the resolve. I will kill you someday!
Once he was put back in the cell He looked up and said Got him goin. Hey Morlos. He wanted to pay me to beat you senseless. As you can see I didnt take him up on it. He's a coward. Jasper is working his own thing right now. Not sure what his angle is...but I can tell he's got something going. I did see where the stairs down were... and then he outlines what he saw in his trips. Occasionally pausing to shake his head free of the cobwebs that seemed to want to creep back into his being. Now would not be the time to succumb to unconsciousness.
"Noted. Anyone useful now?"
"Somebody get me out of these chains... I'll show you how useful I can be." Avingen says
These fools are planning an escape? Seems like folly to me. Darvik pulls at his chains a little and looks around the cell once more. His bindings have become more and more uncomfortable and the food isn't exactly hospitable. Then again, what would be the penalty for attempted escape? Death? They certainly are not interested in keeping us alive down here.
If you guys have some sort of plan going for escape, I'm game. How do you want to go about this?