As the tools were passed to Erodin, Ezra became acutely aware of her pulse skittering and skipping beats.
Their savior's words were hissed soft towards her, but her voice failed her. All she could do was nod as her eyes stayed focused on Erodin.
Could he really do it?
Her answer came by way of the manacles slipping off of him. She watched as the man worked on Jethryk's locks. She continued watching and urging him on, silently, until the moment the cold iron slipped off of her.
Her limbs feel heavy. As the last locks are being worked on, she takes a moment to massage her wrists and ankles. Dark purple bruises sat plainly against her olive skin. Swollen, sore, but not broken. That was all that mattered.
Slowly she rises to her feet. "না, আমি মনে করি যে এখন জন্য সব করা হবে."
Ezra stretches her fingers and tries to pull the process back into her mind. "আপনার সংকেত."
"At your signal."
Pretending to be chained up made sense, so long as the guards did not catch on to the fact that the shackles were no longer secure. He turned his gaze to Jethryk and then Erodin, offering up the word of agreement in Necril, before speaking to Ezra.
"সমস্ত আমরা এখনও হচ্ছে শৃঙ্খলিত এ এবং সাজা যাও মধ্যে রক্ষিবাহিনী প্রলুব্ধ করতে চেষ্টা করবে. তাদের জন্য আদায় এবং গোপন অবস্থান ঢোকা আগে আপনি দ্বার আগে স্থল slicken হওয়া পর্যন্ত অপেক্ষা করুন. আমরা নির্দিষ্ট উভয় এবং লিখুন none 'ছুটি করতে চাই. " He spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable. He forced nervousness from his voice, though with his left hand he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
Ripping away the rags he wore as a shirt, he tore the grime covered cloth from his upper torso with a fury and then tossed the strips to Erodin and Jethryk. He hoped that might serve to aid them.
Carefully he then wrapped the insect shaped unholy symbol of the pallid princess within the veil and positioned them against the wall, before he slipped first his ankles and then his hands back into the shackles, though he made sure not to click them closed once more. He pressed his back against the holy symbol, shielding it from view.
"அதே திருடன் கருவிகள் மறைக்க மறக்க வேண்டாம்." The words came in necril as a reminder. He did not want to leave a detail unaccounted for. He just hoped that the other two men were competant with a blade.
As he waited for the others to get ready, he let his eye sweep the interior, searching for any loose bricks or stones which might serve as a weapon should the two daggers not be enough.
Jethryk nods, expertly grabs the proffered dagger, and takes a few experimental swings, testing to see which edge is the sharpest.
He then secretes it on his person, ready to be used on the guards that come through the door, and pretends to still be shackled.
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Ezra smirks as he wipes his forehead. "এই কাজ করবে."She winks.
"This will work."
It had to work.The smirk fades from her lips as she turns back around. You can do this. She lets her eyes close; sweat beads at her hairline. You know what you have to do.
Goosebumps prickle and spread across her flesh. At last, she hears the mutterings. A quick glance behind her confirms it. The men were back in their shackles.
She takes a deep breath to center herself. The words of incantation start deep in her throat, ending in whispers just outside her lips, as she sweeps her hands across the floor. Her palms turn towards the walls and slowly turn towards the floor again.
She continues until she believes that she sees a glisten. Please, let it be real. With fear settling in her throat and hope in her heart, she returns to her shackles.
As words of magic spill from Ezra's mouth, you can almost see them sliding down to the thick cobblestones, coating them, turning them dark with a faint coating of some greasy film.
Oy! Witch, stop that devil chanting or come in an' beat it out of you!
Wencelas she ain't stoppin'! Oh, she stopped. I think you'd better go in, make sure she's not summoning anything in there.
Me? You go in, I'm not getting burnt to a toast by some sort of devil magic!
Come on Wencelas, it's just a woman. I mean, what can she do 'gainst a guy like you? Really?
Fine, but any funny business at all and you follow me and blow the horn. Damn this witch...
A few tantalizing seconds later, the key sounds in the lock, and the door opens to the surprised face of a single guard.
"Listen up witch! If you think you can -- whoah!" he shouts, at first dashing into the doorway and then the corner of the cell, narrowly avoiding a spill upon the grease
"I'm comin' Wencelas! Don't worry I'm heraaaoUuUUGH!" The second guard to appear has no such luck, and as he charges Ezra, club in one hand and trumpet in the other, he loses his footing to the grease and topples to the ground.
"She's done something to the floors! Blow the horn!"
Surprise Round:
Realising the threat posed by the horn, Jethryk takes a feinting slash, and then reaches forward, and, with his empty hand, attempts to wrestle it from the prone guard.
Artorius let the shackles slip from his wrists. Everything was quickly spiraling out of control, into the chaos of combat. The two guards seemed prepared for trickery and deceit, but were they capable of resisting his full power. He turned his gaze to Jethryk, the corner of his lip twitching when the killer pulled the trumpet from the horn blower and then spoke in both the tongue of devil's and the tongue of the dead. He then turned to Wencelas and gave a wolf's grin.
"He has failed you. His incompetence can be tolerated no longer. Always goading you, always hiding behind your back, whispering to others of your faults when you are not present... he deserves to die." They were not normal words he spoke, his poisonous tongue laced with powerful enchantment which sought to worm it's way into Wencelas's mind and fill him with murderous intention toward his prone companion.
As the second guard slips and crashes to the ground, a short bubble of manic laughter spills from her lips. As Ezra rises from her shackles, she hisses the devil-tongue at the guards. "ওহ কিভাবে বলশালী পড়ে."
She spares a glance at her fellows. Jethryk has possession of the horn. Erodin is guarding the door. A smirk settles comfortably on her lips. If the Broken One's words were successful, the one called Wencelas would murder his companion. Everything is under control.
Now if things were to turn undesirable...
With everything under control, Ezra decides to stand back and watch. Erodin was closer to the door and would be able to close it before she ever reached it. No, it’s best to stand back and watch the show.
Her eyes narrow in on the one called Wencelas. If he should resist the Broken One’s words, if he should attack her fellows, well, he would be swiftly punished. The incantation to conjure acid rested, silently, on her tongue - ready to be spoken at any second.
+?
Wencelas' eyes glass over as he let's his club slip to the floor. He takes a few steps forward until he is staring directly down at his comrade. A small look of relief washes over the other guards eyes, and he manages a faint smile; escape from these murderers is possible! Together we can alert the others, save the day! Wencelas draws his sword, and swings it downward.
+?
+?
The guard screams in pain as the hand that once held the horn is severed from his arm. With nothing left to do, he tries to half crawl, half flail his way through doorway in abject terror, slashing wildly at Erodin who stands in the way.
+?
Artorius calmly walked over to where Wencelas had previously been standing at the edge of the grease and bent down to pick up the club he had discarded. Running his hand over the wood, he frowned. Unbidden, he remembered the guards who apprehended him using similar cudgels on him, battering him mercilessly. His swollen, purple eye was the result of one such beating. His lips curled downward in a harsh frown.
"Wencelas how does it feel to spill the blood of your friend? To stain your hands with murderous intent? You have begun the first steps away from the false faith of Mitra and onto the true path... now finish your journey and end his life." Artorius said in a whisper, even as he readied the club. While his power no longer controled the other guard, that did not change the fact that Wencelas had just severed his friend's hand. It was possible that he might plunge the guard into further doubt, perhaps even turn him.
His left leg spasmed and he shuddered in place, but it soon passed and he remained on his feet.
The initial satisfaction of witnessing the solitary cleave through sinew and bone slowly subsides into a less pleasurable feeling. The screams could have been heard already. "Let's get this over with, gentlemen." Ezra smiles for a moment before glancing at the hornblower. Desperate times call for quick exits. Her eyes narrow as she begins another incantation, flicking her wrists towards him.
Jethryk stares contemptuously at the mewling guard, and attempts to finish him off.
At Artorius' words the bleeding, battered, and acid-burned guard on the floor turns to Wencelas as if to offer some last few words, but nothing comes from his mouth save a faint trickle of blood as Jethryk drives a dagger into the mans back.
"You fiends! You'll pay for this!" Wencelas screams, barreling towards Erodin in an attempt to remove him from his position at the door.
Unfortunately (or by which I mean, quite fortunately), the grease catches Wencelas off guard this time, sending him tumbling to the floor, as he tries to throw his weight into Errodin as he falls, a maneuver most ineffective.
Jethryk shrugs, ignoring the guard's ranting at what to him, is simply randomised surgery, and moves to flank with Erodin, taking a deft swing at the guard as he does so.
"Wencelas, you misguided fool, it is a pity we do not have time to illuminate you as to the errors of your ways and further educate you in the Truth, but we are in a hurry and you are simply not signifigant enough to justify a delay." Artorius said in a calm, low voice as he manuevered around the grease and positioned himself at one side of Wencelas.
Gripping the club in both hands he raised it over his head and then fiercely struck downwards at the back of the guards neck. With luck, that sharp crack he heard with the impact was the fracturing of the soldier's spine.
Slck!
Shhk!
Thwck!
With the focused assault of all three of you, Wencelas finally falls limp to the floor, now well on his way to meeting his friend the hornblower once again.
May Mitra take their souls.
You on the other hand, have a much different task before you, avoiding the greedy hands of Mitra, escaping death, and finally freeing yourselves from this damned prison!
And what a better opportunity, the door is wide open, no seems to have heard the screams (or so you hope), and it will be hours before the next patrol finds these poor fellows.
Crouching down next to where Wencelas had fallen, Artorius leaned over and whispered in his ear. The whispered words soon grew a little louder and transformed into a simple offering to the Pallid Princess, urging her to take the two who had fallen. When he finished, he brought the leather club down once more, making sure the task was completed.
He turned to the other three he shared the cell with. "We should take from them all that would be of use. Then see if any others can be utilized for our cause." He said with a whispered voice, though he spoke in the lingua franca of Talingarde now.
As he was bent over Wencelas he began to peel the man out of his armor and then his clothes. They were better than his own rags. Though he did not take off the rags, he slid the fabrics and then the chain shirt over them. The soldiers belt was taken too and he did his best to ignore the blood that had stained his newly acquired garments. With a simple smile he pulled on the dead man's boots. He seemed to have little discomfort with the now nearly naked body bleeding at his now booted feet. Hooking the leather club at his belt, he hefted one of the heavy steel shields and palmed the key with the number 10.
If no one else made for it, he soon retrieved the heavy ring of keys as well. "When all are ready, we shall proceed as one."
No sound can be heard outside save for what sounds to be the scurrying of a rat.
Or was it?
Jethryk sighs when the final guard falls, and then sets about quickly and efficiently stripping the body, leaving it only its loincloth.
He then quickly dons its clothing, weapons, and armor.
Feeling a tad more lethal, Jethryk nods to the others.
"I am ready to go. Perhaps there are other prisoners here we could use to stage a full-scale prison revolt? That would make it easier for us to escape..."
Jethryk shrugs, but tosses the dagger to Erodin, and the club to Ezra.
"By all means. I was simply collecting them because no-one else had claimed them. After being in here, I would prefer that we were over-armed, rather than under-armed."
It was without pomp or circumstance that the guard’s body slid, for the last time, to the floor, staining the floor crimson. She stood back, her facade a stone mask, until her men confirmed the kill. It was only then that she crossed the floor with a firm step towards the severed hand. While the men were on the bodies, she was stealing their trophy. Ripping some of the fabric from the remnants of her dress, she fashions herself a sort of belt - tying the extremity around her waist.
The men prove themselves to be as efficient in stripping bodies as they are at murder. Ezra turns, watching as they gear up. ”Now there are some fine-looking murderers.” She grins for a moment. Erodin scolds Jethryk, dictating the beatstick be handed to her. It’s heavy in her hands, reassuring. Holding it, the memories of first blows return. Talingarde would pay. Someday. She’d burn the entire country down.
”Thanks, dolls.”
With that, she steps into line behind Artorius. ”Lead on.”
He combed a few strands of his dark hair from his face and gestured with one finger to the door. It was clear that he wished to be as quiet as possible while everyone prepared themselves for the dangers they would encounter in Branderscar.
Once all were ready he gave a nod to Erodin to proceed. His gaze flickered to Jethryk and Ezra, then back to Jethryk. "Other prisoners could be useful to us. Yet we must proceed with caution. Let us go from this cell and see what we find beyond." Artorius whispered. His face was hard as he let the symbol of the Urgathoa hang boldly displayed around his neck.
As he followed Erodin out of the cell, he turned back to the others as if he wanted to say something, but when his left hand began to shake and his fingers involentarily curl, he clamped his mouth shut and proceeded onward without words.
Errodin cautiously opens the door to...
Silence. You find yourself in a cold stone hallway with, thankfully, not a guard in sight. There are six cells in this room: the one you just left, with stone walls and reinforced wooden door; four cells without walls, only metal bars (all of which are obviously empty); and an ominous iron door with a heavy lock. You have no idea what, if anything could be in the iron cell, but there is a small hatch at the top that could be used to look inside.
At the other end of the hallway is a wooden door which has been left open a crack, suggesting that it must lead to the rest of dungeons.
You hear nothing on the other side of the door.
It is quite cold, but not dank, and you get the feeling that you are in fact above ground.
Jethryk nods towards the iron door.
"Shall we take a peek inside before heading out? Anything kept in there would probably be useful..."
Jethryk nods, and moves to take a peek through the hatch in the iron door.
Beyond the hatch you discover another cell much bigger than yours, but no les inhospitable. The limited light coming from the small hatch makes it difficult to make out what's inside, but you can make out the shadowed form of something chained and crouched in the far corner of the cell. Something big. Something inhuman.
With the realization that the hatch has been opened, the hulking figure shifts somewhat and speaks in a voice that is at the same time powerful, murderous, and hungry.
"You little 'uns fin'ly come to kill me? Prob'ly a good idea."
Jethryk considers his next words carefully, even as he strains to get a better look at the occupant of the cell.
"Given that up until a few minutes ago, we were prisoners awaiting execution, we have no interest in killing you. In fact, we would like to make you an offer - how about we let you out in exchange for helping us rip this place apart, carving a bloody path to freedom? There are even the bodies of a couple of the guards a few rooms over, if you happen to be hungry..."
"What d'you think I am, some sort of savage?" the being says as it casually tosses what looks to be a partially rotted human arm towards the door. You like to think that those aren't huge bite marks running across it, but you can't be so sure...
"Sounds like a deal to me. If you don't mind the extra baggage of one so badly wounded 'n drugged. 'Course I'll still rip your arms off if you try 'an cross me. And don't think you'll be able to outsmart me either; I don't care what you heard about 'dumb ogres', you'll know I'm as clever as any man."
"Now I hope you got a key, huh?"
Jethryk nods, unmoved by the creature's threat.
"Very well. At least we understand one another. I, at least, believe in the old axiom that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Keys, we have. The guards were quite... useful... in that regard."
Jethryk then begins fumbling with the keys, looking for the one that might fit the massive lock.
Artorius listened carefully for to the conversation between Jethryk and the large, shadowed figure chained in the cell beyond the iron door. He was content to let the killer take the lead in offering the creature an alliance, well satisfied with the tact he took. Yet he would not be completely idle, picking up the creature's inflection and the change in its voice, seeking to determine whether there was any lie in it's words.
If Jethryk did not have the necessary key, Artorius would step forward and seek to use either his key '10' or the large ring of keys to open the heavy iron door. His hand was shaking as he did, but he clasped one hand over the other and willed the tremor to pass.
Finding the key on the guards' key ring and nothing wrong with the creature's words, Artorius lets the door creak open.
Chains clatter to the floor as the thing moves forward, betraying surprising cunning for an ogre... if it is indeed an ogre. However, this fact is confirmed when a thick brutish hand grasps the doorframe followed by a head bearing the misshapen permantly snarking face of an ogre, although this one is surrounded by a thick tangle of dark matted hair, though which a tiny pair of horns is just visible.
After much straining to fit its body through through the doorway, the ogre emerges, pushing Artorius and Jethryk by bulk alone. Once outside, the ogre takes up nearly the entire end of the hallway, and must bow its head just to fit.
"Name's Grumblejack. I see you got weapons, wouldn't happen to have any giant clubs for the savage man eater over here?" he says with a hint of ogrish sarcasm, if there even is such a thing.
Jethryk is given pause when the sheer bulk of the creature is made apparent, but recovers quickly.
"My name is Jethryk, Grumblejack. No, the guards did not have any weapons sized for one of your stature. Hopefully, though, as we continue to explore, we may find something suitable..."
He then turns to the others.
"Shall we head downstairs?"