You have all been chained together in the same 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 reatment 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 to the wall above by manacles. 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 all been well searched and every attempt to conceal anything on your person has failed. And if you could somehow slip your bonds and fly out of this prison, where would you go? Who from your former life would want anything to do with the forsaken?
Despised, alone and 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?
You can hear faint noises from the large, stone-enclosed cell next to you. There is someone or something in there.
Galen stands with a shaved head and sever features, his complexion a little paler and his face more gaunt with his stay at Branderscar, no doubt it would become more noticeable if he stayed here longer but that kind of thing didn't happen in Branderscar.
He lets out a light chuckle before looking at the others present and making a conciliatory gesture with his hands. "Forgive me, my sense of humor runs dark at times. Though I am not eager to get into my grave I find this justice laughable. If I have been found guilty and am to be executed it is needlessly cruel to draw it out like this. Held in stockades or crucified to set an example. There's some wisdom in that... but this is just petty. Perhaps they just want me to suffer for no purpose but what can you expect from the much exalted Church of Mithra? They wouldn't want to sully their public reputation would they, they keep their darkest deeds far from prying eyes."
He shakes his head and grins "Justice and efficiency sacrificed at the altar of ones public image because they lack the moral fortitude to do what is right."
Even barely conscious, the redheaded young woman in the corner of the cell manages to slump in her shackles with poise and elegance (not being especially robust at the best of times, she blacked out during the branding - perhaps the only mercy Branderscar prison affords). The pointed tips of her ears protrude from the mass of flame-red curls, hinting at her non-human heritage.
Waking with a start, she grimaces at the brand seared into her arm. "Now that is just rude," she remarks to nobody in particular, in a drawling accent that marks her as being from the Heartland of Talingarde. "And we weren't even introduced..." Nobody seems to observe the proprieties any more.
On the subject of proprieties, her prison garb is not exactly decent, either... but if she's honest, she has to admit that she has voluntarily worn more revealing outfits (one springs readily to mind: the not-even-really-a-dress that Lu and Jo bought her, insisting that she wear it; it was nothing more than draped layers of sheer lace, one atop another)... She smiles, ruefully. That was some party.
The stinging pain in her arm brings her back to the present, as does her neighbour's voice. Her eyes flash with good humour as she considers his words with a smile: "Well gracious, honey, justice has been done and righteousness has triumphed - did you not get the memo? It was stuck to a red-hot brand..." the rest of the joke is lost as she trails off, coughing violently; she feels something tear in her lungs and grimaces, swallowing the blood back down. Now is NOT the time to show weakness.
"Oh but heavens to goodness, where are my manners?! My name is Rigel." She does her best to curtsey in the chains. "And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"
The information that they aren't alone is useful, and something that she might share, in time.
Gallen looked up as the half elven woman spoke he gave a little bow to be polite "I am Sir Gallen. I have been convicted of treason and conspiracy against the Royal Family... I do hope I'm in suitably august company. May I be so daring as to ask Rigel, under what conviction have they branded your name?"
Even in rags the man had a noble bearing, more indignant about the situation than any physical pain. Rigel was certainly an attractive woman but as inept as their captors were he didn't think they could botch things at this stage while they awaited so it didn't matter all that much. At least she had the dignity to keep her decorum in the admittedly stressful situation they found themselves in.
Amalrus looks young and his hair still retains the sleek darkness it always has had. These days tattered prison rags are all he wears. His grey/green eyes DO bring out the best in the drab clothing though, well, at least he’ll die young and leave a good looking corpse! Always thin, he’s become almost gaunt with the lack of food, good food, fed since being apprehended.
Amalrus looks up, "Rigel? Rigel Quicklingfay? My word, we are in august company then. You are friends with Lucrezzio and Jocaste no? I've attended a few of their soirees but never had the pleasure of meeting you.
A pity really, I am sure we would have been the very best of friends.
Tell me, were they too accused of breaking Mitran laws? If they are not here in another cell perhaps they can aid us in getting out of here? Think of how terrible a world it would be should the likes of us be slain, and like common thugs no less!
That Church I redecorated needed some color, the whites were not inspiring anyone, I'd been to a few of the sermons and I've given more inspirational speeches than that old priest and I'm no member of the clergy. Why the reds I redecorated with were to die for". Amalrus laughs at the image still burned in his mind.
"My manners, I am sorry Sir Gallen, I did not mean to exclude you from the conversation, it's just that I do so love to meet people in person I'd only heard about before.
I am Amalrus Almuric, Acolyte of the Arcane and of course a devotee of Asmodeus. Amazing is it not? The worship of a God is Blasphemy! I mean, I could understand if I worshiped Socko the Hand Puppet God. By all means lock me away then as a loon as there is no such God!
An injustice indeed..."
He then looks around at the rest of the chained figures, "Are the rest of these poor souls already dead do you think? I was hoping for at least a more spectacular execution than rotting away in this wonderfully drab place. Why I've a speech prepared to inspire my followers, I hope they can hear me from beyond the grave".
---
Perception
Sitting next to the cell’s far wall, Wesh Meloi glances over at his fellow cellmates. He hadn’t expected Talingarde to be so generous in giving him company. Wesh’s normally blonde hair looks more brown due to the Talireans’ treatment. He still possesses thick eyebrows and a strong jawline despite the way he’s been treated.
His forsaken mark still glares at him angrily when he looks down at it. The burn mark would likely takes days if not weeks to heal. Wesh sees it as a badge of honor to possess the unique tattoo. No one would mistaken him for an everyday street thug now.
He looks up at his manacled hands. The Talireans hadn’t been as generous about the manacles. Wesh has to keep his hands completely still to avoid them rubbing painfully against the metal of his restraints. Despite the discomfort, he has to admire his arms’ musculature. Even with the Talireans brutalizations, he still feels strong and more than capable of beating a Mitran priest’s face in should the opportunity arise.
Wesh wonders if he might could pull his restraints free from the cell’s wall with enough tries. Perhaps, but with the guard posted outside, he would likely make far too much noise to benefit from any such attempt. Something to keep in mind for the future, at least.
For the first time, Wesh looks over at each of his fellow inmates and begins evaluating them. Wesh doubts they’ll be good conversation partners, but perhaps he can use them to aid in his escape. Sir Gallen had been the first to speak. The man seems to possess his own sense of justice. Did the man want to hasten his death? Still, being convicted of treason was no small accomplishment. Perhaps he could useful.
Then there’s Rigel. At least one of the other prisoners seemed to recognize her. Wesh at least recognizes her accent. He shares that in common with her, though he likes to think his is less obvious. She seems too fragile for Wesh’s taste. Perhaps she could make a good diversion during an escape attempt.
The last of those to speak so far is Amalrus. The man was perhaps the most intriguing. He seems a bit weak, but his casual mentioning of Asmodeus causes Wesh to raise an eyebrow. Had he finally found a fellow worshiper? Based on the man’s vague comments, it sounded as though he had perpetrated things nearly as socially unacceptable as Wesh.
As for the others, Wesh figures he’ll have to wait and see. Perhaps they could be useful in their own ways.
To Rigel, Wesh says, “A fellow Heartlander, I see. I’m also curious how one such as yourself ended up in this place. You don’t seem like the kind to commit crimes worthy of sending you here.”
Looking over at Sir Gallen, Wesh says, “What constitutes treason and conspiracy these days? And what would cause a ‘Sir’ such as yourself to commit such an act?”
To Amalrus, Wesh says, “I, too, worship Asmodeus as well as Moloch. If you speak truthfully, I am glad to meet a fellow Asmodean. It has been years since I last spoke with one.”
"A little conversation seems to be bringing people around. To answer our new associate well I was trying to get a lock of the Princess's hair for a more long term project but that wont be viable any more. My conspiracy was just some co operation with the worshipers of Mephistopheles and a few servants who were talked around. As to why I committed such an act." Gallen smiles showing his teeth in the dim light "To bring about order of course, this country has been on a downward slide for some time with the honeyed whispers of the Church of Mithra weakening it. I do hope that church that was redecorated was one of theirs."
Demlin slouches between Gallen and Rigel, her arms stretched upwards as far as they will go as her head and torso lean forward and down slghtly, her chin on her chest. She looks dirty and mistreated and has an angry red forsaken mark still fresh on her arm. If it weren't for her slight breathing it would look as if she were dead. "I didn't do anything to deserve this," she says in a raspy voice, "He led us into a trap. He knew what waited there. The bastard. Apparently I attacked him. He's lucky." Her heartland accent is noticeable but it is a cruder one, gained from spending time around the less civilised parts of society.
The young woman - eighteen, twenty at the most - at the end opposite the beautiful Rigel is dressed in the remains of a high-end gown: a bodice of soft leather in a reddish-brown (burnt sienna) and a heavy velvet skirt in gold, definitely not the clothing of a commoner. Attractive in a severe sort of way, she sits rigidly, with her head resting against the stone behind her, face bruised and feet not only locked into the chain connecting everyone to each other and the wall, but with a bar between them, keeping them locked down. Black hair cut unfashionably short - what might be called a bob-cut - is messed up, undoubtedly better off with some sort of headband since it's getting into her eyes a bit.
"We all deserved this," she says with Cambrian-port accent, albeit with the sort of precise pronunciation expected of a scholar or noblewoman. "Claiming otherwise is futile. Almost anything at this time is futile, I suppose." She, at least, seems resigned to the situation, not twisting her arms or ankles. "Three days ..."
"Mephistophelese, eh? He's a decent choice, I suppose. But I prefer the Lord of the Sixth when it comes to archdevils. The Dark Prince above all, of course."
"I hope it was a Mitran church as well. I've done a bit of redecorating myself. Granted, my redecorating was more of an after-effect."
To Demlin, Wesh says, "Oh, come now. Do you really expect us to believe you are here for no reason? They only send the worst of the worst here. There's no shame in admitting your guilt. You're in the same boat as the rest of us."
Wesh looks over at Hel for the first time. Her blackened fist not withstanding, she is quite attractive. Her hair is a bit dark for Wesh's taste, but she's not so bad. Hel would likely make a good ally in an escape attempt.
At Hel's comment about three days, Wesh lowers his voice to the point where he hopes the guards outside won't be able to hear him. "Speaking of which, I think we should consider how to get out of this place. They say it's never been done before, but that just means we get to be the first. I'm talking about escaping... and bashing a few heads in while we do so. Between the six of us, I think we could manage something. And if we fail, at least we'll die sooner. So what do you say, care to try escaping?"
“A fellow Heartlander, I see. I’m also curious how one such as yourself ended up in this place. You don’t seem like the kind to commit crimes worthy of sending you here.”
Rigel gives a small smile. "Aw, don't people say the nicest things? But looks can be deceiving, honey: I'm a barrister and priestess of the First." She doesn't say the name Asmodeus, not here, not out loud; but it should be obvious who she's referring to.
Amalrus looks up, "Rigel? Rigel Quicklingfay? My word, we are in august company then. You are friends with Lucrezzio and Jocaste no? I've attended a few of their soirees but never had the pleasure of meeting you.
She cocks one eyebrow mock-flirtatiously at Amalrus when he shows that he's heard of her. "That's me, honey, the one and only... but Lu and Jo aren't here." She allows a small shadow of grief to pass across her face. "They won't be helping anyone any more; and as for how I came to be here, why, that is truly a tale worth the hearing. Are you sitting comfortably, honey? Then I'll begin."
"Lu and Jo were pretty wild, even for the fast set they hung out with - there was a core of maybe a dozen of us that they trusted for parties that went beyond the usual." Rigel's face is utterly demure, and she discreetly doesn't mention what 'beyond the usual' entailed - anyone who needs to ask doesn't need to understand. "They had a small estate just outside Ghastenhall, and one weekend they whisked us all away there, no expenses spared." Her dark eyes twinkle. "I would love to tell you what happened there, but I'm blessed if I can recall it myself. All I can tell you is that I woke up in the woods one morning, wearing no more than I was born in, with Lu and Jo either side of me, just the same... only dead. And everyone else... vanished."
"Now, I was surely going to beat any murder charges - no weapon, no motive, no witnesses - but unfortunately, they found my pentagram in among the piles of clothing. Gracious heavens, but the prosecutor had fun with that one in court! Still, they couldn't prove it was mine, but all the remaining circumstances looked bad, and there was me, with nothing to do but swear up and down I had no recollection of events. The jury barely had time to drink their coffee before they found me guilty. Blasphemy's the charge, and burning is the penalty. Seems a little extreme to me, but there you are."
"And yes, I have had plenty of time to reflect upon the ironies of a barrister getting herself convicted of a capital crime on purely circumstantial evidence. What can I say, honey? The First has a mean sense of humour..."
"Speaking of which, I think we should consider how to get out of this place. They say it's never been done before, but that just means we get to be the first. I'm talking about escaping... and bashing a few heads in while we do so. Between the six of us, I think we could manage something. And if we fail, at least we'll die sooner. So what do you say, care to try escaping?"
Rigel gives a small shrug, and a sly smile. "I like your way of thinking - and it has to be a better death than burning; I have to confess, I am not keen on going out that way."
"Priestess of the First indeed. You just might be the only kind of priest I don't want to murder. And my apologies for not introducing myself. My name's Wesh Meloi.
"Supposedly, they're planning to chop off my head, but considering the fact that I'm already damned, I would rather it be me doing the chopping."
Wesh looks over at the rest of his cellmates before saying, "What about the rest of you? Care for an escape attempt?"
Of course, Wesh hardly expects many, if any, of them to escape. He mostly sees them as a means to an end. The end being his escape to continue killing for the First, as Rigel called him. If some of the others escaped in the process, perhaps he could continue using them. It isn't as if he actually knows these people.
Still, Wesh figures it's best to put on a nice smile and hope the rest go along with his plan. He'll need plenty of diversions for the guards, if or when the time comes.
Rigel can see that the man plans to use them as a means for his own escape, but she doesn't disapprove - quite the contrary, his ambition shows that he's more than just a thug. He can think some, too. She gives him a slow smile: "Well I'm not much of a fighter, Wesh honey, but I can patch you up to keep you in the fight for longer." One dark eye closes in a wink. "So it's in your interest to keep me alive."
She sinks back in her chains to rest against the wall behind her, suddenly overcome with a wave of exhaustion. "And we're not alone here, I'll tell you that much for nothing. From the faint noises in the large, stone-enclosed cell next to us, I'd say there is someone or something in there. Surprised you didn't hear it."
Gallen looks about the cell "Well if you have an actual plan I am open to hearing it but no use squandering strength without some hope of success, it would be negligent to not take a good opportunity."
"To be clear though I am not a servant of Asmodeus or any of his Infernal Dukes but I am sensible enough to see the corrupt foundations of that law. I am not averse to working with their agents and it's usually worked out well. There has been the odd attempted betrayal but a few agents like to take the view that I am expendable but at least for now I still breath and they most assuredly do not. If I had to be associated with a deity if would be Abadar."
"The foundations are in no way corrupt," comes the annoyed and acidic voice of the young woman on the end. "It's the people who execute it, and the laws that are created to let them enact it in whatever way they see fit. Destroying anything that does not agree with you ... well, the Mitrans preach wisdom and goodness, but by no means do they practice tolerance and the right of intellectual freedom - and so long as their parishoners sing praises and fill their coffers, the clergy is as bad as any, letting them do behind the doors of their homes whatever foulness they care to manage."
"That said, just exactly how do you propose to liberate yourself, much less the rest of us? Clamps around our wrists, our feet chained together ... I doubt they're going to care much about feeding or watering us over the next couple of days, but if I were doing it, I'd unlock one hand on one person at a time, and give us five minutes to do the job." She eyes the place, then inhales deeply before letting the breath out in a thin stream. "And I don't see a garderobe around here, do you?"
She turns her head to spit on the wall to which her feet are chained, the wall on the other side of which is - according to the woman on the far side - 'something else'. "I wouldn't treat the worst dog in my kennel this way. If we have an opportunity, count me in - but let's look for an opportunity first, shall we?"
"And I am ... hmph. Hel. Blackfist." Above its clamp, her black-skinned left hand flexes for a moment, then goes still once more.
Rigel shoots Gallen a friendly - if somewhat doubtful - look as he professes his allegiance to Abadar. "Suit yourself, honey, but the Vaultmaster is no friend of lawbreakers and prisoners. And I mean, gosh, don't tell me you ended up here, in this place, by following Abadar's laws, hm?" She rolls her eyes, and grins at him.
"The foundations are in no way corrupt," comes the annoyed and acidic voice of the young woman on the end. "It's the people who execute it, and the laws that are created to let them enact it in whatever way they see fit. Destroying anything that does not agree with you ... well, the Mitrans preach wisdom and goodness, but by no means do they practice tolerance and the right of intellectual freedom - and so long as their parishoners sing praises and fill their coffers, the clergy is as bad as any, letting them do behind the doors of their homes whatever foulness they care to manage."
Hel's diatribe earns her a look of good-natured concern: "Why bless your heart, child, aren't you just full of anger... Do you want to tell me about it? I was always a good listener. Besides, it isn't like I'm going anyplace. Yet. And I'd be grateful for a story that takes my mind off things. Sounds to me like you have one." Her tone is warm, encouraging, friendly. Part of being a good barrister is being able to put your client at ease, whatever the circumstances; and Rigel is an excellent barrister.
Looking down the line at the person on the opposite end is difficult, but Hel manages to toss a look of cool contempt back down to Rigel. "Quicklingfay, I have a story. If I am ever driven insane from anguish and guilt, I might consider telling you - but what I can absolutely guarantee is that speaking to me as if I were some country bumpkin like Lucrezzio, Jocaste and yourself will result in nothing but silence - and discourtesy whenever I can next manage it. I was treated as a child by Mitrans for far too long, after they turned my parents and our purely intellectual library into a pyre for having 'forbidden' texts; having heard rumors of what you and your two playmates got up to - yes, gotten up to and gotten away with, with money in hand and a sweet argument on your side - whenever I was forced to go to Ghastenhall made my stomach sour. So you pin that 'bless your heart child' condescension behind your lip before it gets you into serious fvcking trouble."
She ... might have gotten a bit loud towards the end of that, enough for the guards to hear.
The door to the cells suddenly opens, and six well-armed guards come into the room, led by a fat, well-dressed Sergeant of the Watch. You all immediately recognize Sergeant Tomas Blackerly, the man who personally branded each of you as you were brought in. He laughed at the sound of your skin burning, and saw to it you were beaten before being locked in your current confinements.
Pointing at Rigel, he gruffly says, "You there! That's the scum! Get 'er unshackled. If any of you makes trouble, they'll earn a thrashing." Two guards come into the cell, with two more standing by the door to the cell block with signal horns, and two flanking Blackerly just outside. The two who come in unchain Rigel and put manacles on her arms before roughly pushing her forward. Blackerly says, "Today's your lucky day, scum. You've got a visitor. How you ever warranted such a fine lady is beyond me. Now step lively. We wouldn't want to keep her waiting."
Prisoners in Branderscar never get visitors - no one ever wants to associate with them, and they typically aren't allowed.
The sergeant appears to be under the effect of some enchantment.
The guards and Blackerly escort Rigel from the cell block, and the door closes behind them, locking.
You are roughly escorted to a meeting room and shoved into a chair. Waiting in the room is a hauntingly beautiful woman in an elegant black dress and soft silken veil. She looks as if she is headed to a funeral. Her hair is so platinum as to be almost white and her eyes are a vibrant, almost unearthly green. She clearly has been weeping. "Oh dearest," proclaims the unfamiliar woman, "I'm so relieved you're alive!" She quickly turns to Tomas. "Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity's sake?"
Blackerly goes blank for a bit, then says, "Of course, my lady. For you, tis no problem."
Clearly, this woman has some power over Tomas Blackerly - magic or supernatural, perhaps?
As soon as the guards leave, the woman's demeanor changes immediately, from a pretense of grief to strictly business.
"Have you forgotten me, dearest?" the woman says with a smirk. "Call me Tiadora. We possess a mutual friend who would like to meet you and your fellow cell-mates. Unfortunately, our friend is unwilling to meet with you in your present, rather...shabby accommodations, so it seems you must escape. Don't be so dour. Just because it's never been done before is no reason you can't be the first.
[b]"If you manage that, cross the moors on the outskirts of town. On the old Moor Road you'll see a manor house with a single lantern burning in the second story. There our mutual friend waits. That is all I know. He did bid me to give you this."
Here she takes off her silken veil and wipes away a few fake tears. "Something to remember me by, dearest."
Gallen is about to respond when the guards come storming in. Seeing no gain in sticking his neck out to keep Rigel from a visitor he remains silent.
Once the door closes behind it he looks at it for a moment before turning to Hel. "With regard to an earlier point I speak of the law against Asmodeus as having poor foundations because it was issued in response to King Hallen's poor mental health. The Church of Asmodeus was small and weak by all accounts during that period and aside from general mischief I have never heard anyone explain why they would act at that point. There are misdeeds done by the church but of that crime no one has convinced me that the Church of Asmodeus was responsible."
"Scape goats because one was needed, guilty out of convenience. Of course many disagree with me but consider the facts handed down to us and the inconsistencies and the potential lies that are intertwined."
His tone softens just a shade "I am genuinely sorry to hear of your loss, both of your family and even for your library. I will admit certain texts must be kept in proper hands but given the quality of the remains of your garments and distaste for Mithrans I do not doubt the attack was unjust."
Rigel is unperturbed by the dark-haired girl's outburst of anger; if anything, it just makes her nicer. She spreads her arms in a conciliatory fashion, as far as the shackles will allow her, and treats Hel to one of her kindest smiles. "It's true, honey, I'm from the Heartland - if that makes me a 'bumpkin' then so be it. And my goodness yes, on occasion I have enjoyed life - and in a few days we'll both be dead regardless of whether you approve of me or not. This is who I am; I wouldn't know how to be anyone else."
"But I didn't mean to give offence, and I'd much prefer to be friends than enemies. Heavens, I think we have enough of those already..."
...
When the sergeant enters, she blinks in surprise; and shrinks back slightly, as if in memory of her earlier punishment. It takes her a few seconds to realise what is happening.
Rigel's first thought is that the only person likely to visit her is her sister, and she wonders what strings she must have pulled to get permission for the trip. Her surprise when it turns out to be someone she's never met before is hastily concealed as she plays along with the act.
"Well goodness, it's nice to know I have powerful friends! I'm keen on not being burned at the stake, after all... But, well, how are we supposed to escape, Tiadora, honey? Not all of us can charm the guards like that."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out. If you can't, then perhaps you are not who our mutual acquaintance thought you were, and you'll meet your fate of burning on the pyre. Any other questions?" Tiadora smirks at you, awaiting your response.
Wesh smiles at Rigel's response. There had been times in the past when he could have used a medic of some sort. Perhaps he'll keep her around should they both manage to escape.
"I'll keep that in mind," Wesh says simply.
Wesh rolls his eyes at the discussions about foundations this and foundations that. The foundations weren't founded on Asmodean principles. That's all that mattered.
As for the escape plan, Wesh says, "I can't say I have a specific plan, given our current circumstances. With enough tries, I might be able to break my bonds, though. If we could get a single guard in here, we might could take him with knees and elbows."
-----
Wesh is surprised to hear that Rigel has a visitor. He's quite distracted, however, by Blackerly's arrival. Some of the others might recoil at the man, but all Wesh wants to do is beat his face in. Slowly. Very slowly.
Once the guards leave, Wesh turns to those left and says, "No one ever gets visitors in Branderscar. No one. So who do you suppose came to see Rigel? My money's on a former lover or maybe one of her former legal clients."
She's skilled enough at cross-examination, but this isn't a courtroom. Besides, she's really not feeling at her best right now.
"All the aid you can be given, you have been. You'll have to figure it out yourself, dearest."
Her message delivered, she rises and the guards return. Immediately, her demeanor once more changes and she is again a perfect picture of grief. “No, I can’t bear to leave you!” She gives you a kiss on the cheek. The kiss is ice-cold and feels somehow alien and inhuman.
Tomas shakes his head. “I’m afraid it’s time, miss.”
She looks deep in Tomas’s eyes and says, “Thank you for letting me say good-bye. There’s no need to search my dearest. You are such a good friend for letting me see my dearest one more time.”
“Such a good friend,” Tomas repeats his voice almost mechanical. Then the watch sergeant seems to snap out of it and bows politely. “A pleasure, madam,” She leaves unveiled. Her eyes meet yours one last time and she briefly gives you a wicked smile.
“Three days,” telepathically echoes in your mind. “Don’t disappoint me, dearest." The visitation concluded, the guards grab you to take you back to the cell.
The cell block door opens, and the guards escort Rigel back into the cell, again shackling her to the wall with the rest of you before departing and locking the cell door again. You can tell that there are two guards remaining outside.
On her way back to the cell, Rigel carefully hides the cloth in one clenched fist, balled up tightly. As she walks, she stumbles every now and then, coughing - partly an act, to try and see as much of the prison as she can; and partly not. She's feeling distinctly unwell.
As she returns to the cell, Rigel flashes a quick smile to her companions, but she waits until the guards have left before saying anything.
Once she's sure they are alone again, she risks a careful whisper. "well, that was quite something - I'm still not sure what it was, but my goodness it was something. It seems we are not as alone and friendless as we might have guessed..."
Amalrus allows the others to talk, after all, you learn so much more listening than you do talking.
His eyebrows rise in surprise as Rigel returns, "I wonder who would be interested in us? It seems that your thoughts of escape Wesh are no longer fantasies.
Is that bit of cloth a weapon perhaps Rigel? Something we can use to saw through or pick these locks?"
Demlin keeps her head down when the guards come in, not wanting to draw any attention to herself, but when she hears that instead of being taken to her death she instead has a visitor her head perks up. Something definitely seems amiss but she just can't quite put her finger on it. "That was quite odd. Something felt off about that." She says when they escort Rigel out, agreeing with Wesh but not taking part in his bet.
She doesn't have to wonder for too long as Rigel is soon returned to them. When they are alone again she turns her head to the left to look at Rigel properly. A once-pretty half-elf. We may have been friends if I had chosen the path my family wanted. It seems we were destined to meet anyway.
"A veil? Unless it is magical and can transform into any tool it is no weapon. If only I had a lock pick I would be out of these chains in less time than it would take for them lop off your head."
Amalrus smiles at Demlin, "Not a weapon? My dear, you must use your imagination!"
If you study it, you notice the veil appears to be made of a gossamer silk, and has several cloth patches on it - a couple daggers, a vial, a coiled rope, a sack, a pile of coins, a lantern, a window, and, perhaps most importantly, a couple patches that look like lockpicks and a holy symbol of Asmodeus.
One single, well-planned escape attempt will have a higher chance of success than several haphazard ones.
Wesh considers what Rigel tells them. He certainly hopes Amalrus is on board with the escape attempt. He'll make a good diversion, too.
"Since no one ever gets visitors, perhaps it is indeed a sign we have allies of some kind. Either that or Blackerly is playing a very cruel joke on all of us.
"If what that woman said is true and we're truly on our own, then we'd best get to work on an escape plan. Three days may seem like a long time, but it's really not."
Wesh looks over at the piece of cloth that seems to have everyone's interest. "Not all weapons are physical in nature. The Church of Mitra uses quite a few non-physical ones to hold sway over Talingarde's masses. Rigel, care to enlighten us as to what that is?"
"It would seem a task that would favour subtlety over brute force. If we could find a suitable item for the task is there anyone that could pick the locks? Aside from that sheer strength seems unlikely to work but a little bit of diplomatic trickery might if we had the right ruse."
It's not easy with hands shackled above her head, but Rigel gets enough of a look at the piece of gossamer silk to be able to report: "Well, let's see now... several cloth patches - a couple daggers, a vial, a coiled rope, a sack, a pile of coins, a lantern, a window, and, perhaps most mportantly, a couple patches that look like lockpicks and a holy symbol of the First."
She gives a slow, contented smile. "Well, isn't that nice. My guess is that if you peel them off the silk, they become real. But let's all breathe real slow and hold the hippogriffs, shall we? Seems to me that one single, well-planned escape attempt is much better than a bunch of cockamamie tries."
Demlin perks up again and looks at Rigel with interest when she mentions lock-picks. "So it isn't so much a weapon as a bag of tricks." She mentions quietly. She seems to have decided giving up and submitting to execution is a bad idea. "I agree with you on planning our escape properly first. We should do our best to surprise those out there guarding our door. Perhaps take one alive if possible and persuade him to tell us the layout of this prison."
"2 daggers you say? Give them to the 2 strongest of us first." She seems to be acting as if this were her squad and she was leading them again. She looks at everyone and nods to Gallen and Wesh, approving of their muscled bodies, especially Wesh'. "The guards must go down quickly so they can't summon more of their friends. We can also take their weapons." Her mind races, thinking of what has transpired in here since waking from her beating, the pain from the brand on her arm fights her focus. She hasn't felt like herself since waking up to see her squad all dead. These people aren't your squad and aren't trained. You can't trust them. She didn't have much of a choice right now. "We all share a common will to live. Perhaps if we all work together, we may survive."
"If you're right and there is someone in that cell they could be of use. But let's make sure the guards are silenced first."
"High quality silk makes for a lovely garrote I'll have you know. Why, it's how I made my first sacrifice". Amalrus grins.
"I've a trick that can aid us once we're out of the cells. I'll need to get a good look at the guards before I can pull it off". The grin on his face seems almost plastered there.
He says a prayer muttered under his breath to Asmodeus for sending aid his way!
Wesh begins to smile as he listens to Rigel's description of what's on the silk. His smile only grows as she continues to speak.
"Sounds like I won't have to brute force these manacles off. That's of course assuming someone knows how to use those lock picks."
When Demlin suggests Wesh take one of the daggers, he says, "I would be happy to take one. I'll be sure to use it to carve out Blackerly's heart. After I carve an F in his arm of course. You lot might have to leave me behind if I take too long. I plan to take my time and enjoy it. For the record, I'll be killing him, so please don't get any ideas about stealing the kill.
"Whenever everyone else is ready, I'm good to go. I should be able to quickly dispatch at least one of the mooks outside."
"Now now Wesh, we musn't be shortsighted. Escape first, revenge second.
Why I daresay our escape will land him in this place, perhaps we can frame him for aiding in our escape..." Amalrus becomes thoughtful at the idea.
Gallen gives Wesh a level look and says matter of fact you. "If he dies, he dies. But if it's an option I won't undermine your desire."
Addressing the wider group. "The I'm sick ploy is a little obvious... Perhaps if of us started fighting they'd come in to break it up and punish us. Positioning is key we want the guards backs to the attackers."
Waaay back when ...
More Recent ...
Layout / Staffing? of Branderscar
Question - were we able to see/hear/sense anything on our way in, or were we unconscious at the time? Also, a quick question thinking ahead - is a night's rest going to heal any amount of damage, whether lethal or non-lethal?
Hel's response to Rigel's words before the guards come in to take her off is a snort of contempt; she stays silent during what follows, watching the guards come in and take Rigel off with narrow-eyed suspicion. Something's queer. Blackerly's not acting right in the head, and Branderscar prisoners don't get to have visitors. Sir Gallen's discussion about 'the law' earns him a sideways glance, and she gestures with her chin towards the door. "Trust me," she grates in a low tone, "you'd get a better debate about the niceties of the law from the counsellor than from me. I only read a lot." It takes her a long minute or so for her to swim through the blackness of her hatred before she can finally manage to add, "But thank you for commisseration. It was not, however, a recent loss."
When Rigel returns, the guards go away, and the presence of the handkerchief of useful items is revealed, she closes her eyes and rests her skull against the stone behind her. Listening as the rest have their conversation, she shakes her head slightly. "Does anybody know what time it is?" she wonders aloud. "I have a ... vague memory of the structure of the prison from my reading, but that won't do us any good without an idea of how they go about their business. I really don't think we want to try to break out of here in the middle of the day. Late tomorrow night if they don't feed us, late the next night if they do. We need to discover as much as possible about how they go about their business before we crack this nut from the inside."
"Otherwise, the trap is simple - find out why they'll open up the door, listen for the tell-tales that they're doing so, and then after we all get free, get them to do so. With any sense, one guard will come through, while the other one watches from the door just in case, with the horn ready to sound an alarm. With no sense ..." She shrugs, opening her eyes to look slowly around the room with its multiple cells. "With no sense, maybe we catch another break."
Gallen remains silent as he starts to concentrate on ease dropping on the guards outside, perhaps he could pick up something that could be useful, well anything could be useful if you are cunning.
Based on what you remember of when you were brought in and branded, you're pretty sure it's daylight currently. You aren't completely sure when.
You can't really remember much of what it was like when you were brought in - you don't think it's dark out, but it's hard to tell without windows.
Before being Branderscar Prison, the place was known as Castle Branding, built on a rocky island just off the main coast. It consisted of a guardpost on the mainland attached to a causeway over the ocean that led to the island it had been built on. Traversing this causeway meant that those coming to the castle were under full view of archers on the gatehouse, which was built into the curtain wall that surrounded the grounds and main keep. The wall had 6 towers, one of which, furthest back, was where the lord's quarters were. The main keep was two stories tall, mainly for housing soldiers.
You are able to overhear the guards' conversation - and it is quite interesting.
“That Blackerly is a damned thief! That game was rigged last night!”
“If it’s rigged, why do you keep going back to the gatehouse then?”
“The beer’s passable.”
A laugh is heard. “Drinkin’ on duty! Damn, this place has gone to hell. Captain Callidan would have never tolerated that crap. That’s for sure!”
“Captain Callidan … he left, what? Two years ago?”
“Almost three and since then the place has been straight down the sh!77er. That old wizard never leaves his tower. He stays up there reading his books and petting his owl!”
“Petting his owl? Is that what they call it these days?”
The guards enjoy a bit of a laugh.
After a couple hours of discussion, you hear the door to the cell block unlock, and you go quiet as the two guards outside step in. One of them stands in the door, signal horn in hand, ready to blow at the first sign of trouble. The other strides into the block to your cell, looks each of you over as though trying to spot any signs of trouble, before turning and walking back to the door. Both guards leave, closing the door behind them and locking it.
Once they are sure the guards are well gone Gallen speaks quietly to the other. "It seems since Captain Callidan left three years ago discipline has become more slack under his replacement. The old wizard keeps to his tower and his books and some of the men take to drinking on duty in the gatehouse and gambling. They speak disrespectfully of him. The lack of discipline and strong leadership will serve our needs well."
"It seems we have at least a few hours in between visits." Demlin goes as limp as she was when she was unconscious when the guards come in but as soon as they are gone she lifts her head. Gone is the despair she previously had, replaced with a bit of hope. "They are still somewhat disciplined. We will have to get the one standing at the door before he can blow his horn. I doubt they would be tricked by anything we could say. They would expect it of us who are soon to die. Perhaps if we burst in upon them while they are relaxing and unprepared would give us the perfect element of surprise. Since the door between them and us is locked; you said there was a window. We should use it to bypass the door and come at them from behind. From the room that you said you were led to before." Demlin means for us to take them by surprise while they are possibly relaxing, rather than lure them in here when they might expect something and be on their guard. "When we are ready, lend me the veil. I know how to pick many a lock."
"I think it's day, but I'm not sure without windows. Since there are no windows in here, it may be difficult to come at them from behind. Perhaps one or two of us can stand against the walls next to the door. The rest can cause some sort of commotion, then we can jump them when they come to check on us. I agree that we have to prioritize the one with the horn. We're all dead if he manages to sound it."
The next time Gallen hears the guards coming he'll start using detect good.
"The window is in the veil. I suggest we place it on the wall over there," she points to the left of the guard's door.
Based on what you remember of when you were branded, and how long you think it's been since then (as well as the rumbling of your stomach) you think it's somewhere around mid-day (12 noon).
Gallen nods at Tursei "If it works as you believe however we might need it at a later point, I doubt the item is potent enough to put back on the veil after."
"I believe it is around midday. Perhaps we should wait til night time, either way at least two hours into a guard shift, let them become at ease, no need to fight fresh combatants."
To Demlin, Wesh says, "Ah, my mistake. I agree with Gallen that we should consider waiting, though. We don't actually know where a window would open to. We could be quite a ways off the ground. And we don't know what sorts of patrols the guards have around the prison. I'm guessing a window suddenly appearing in the wall would be cause for alarm.
"We don't know how long it will take to get out, but I agree that striking at night seems wise. But then again, they might be more likely to expect us to try something at night. Still, the cover of darkness will give us the best chance of getting out alive, especially if we have to cross the causeway under fire from their archers."
Wesh looks at each member of their little group. Their long term usefulness is questionable, but there's no question they can be useful in the short term.
He says to them all, "So what do you say? Should we try to break out tonight?"