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.
The youngest prisoner, a coltish girl chained furthest from the door, has hung limp in her chains for a very long time now.
She moans. Beneath her ragged bangs, one black eye opens and peers through the dark of the cell. She shifts her weight and moans again.
"I am so, so, bored! Ugh!"
She kicks her legs against the chains a few times, then goes even limper.
"Somebody say something before I go berzerk. Tell us all how you got here." Her black eye closes. A small grin twitches onto her face. "Whoever tells the best story, wins."
A powerfully built man with blond hair and goatee stirs in his chains next to the young woman with black eyes. Up until now, the man had not spoken or moved, but stayed almost rigidly straight against the wall. He tests the links of his chains for a weak spot and then drops his limbs when he finds none.
"Your boredom is soon to be at an end, child." Balam gives a rueful grin and scratches his once well-groomed beard. He grimaces, and pulls away. Since his confinement, his beard and hair have grown unkempt. Such a break with routine and discipline are far more unsettling than the fate that awaits him. "If your doom is the same as mind, I imagine it'll be quite exciting, if short-lived." His dark chuckle echoes throughout the grim cell. "Of course, your punishment could mean slavery...pardon... labor... in the mines. I'm sure wasting your life away under heavy labor and strict confinement with meager provisions, no pay, and no chance of reprieve would be a welcomed contrast from these dim cells." His smile is unpleasant, yet somehow, makes the man even more attractive.
The man is attractive, despite the filth and rags. He has an air, a gravitas, that is compelling. His voice, hushed so as not to alert the guards--unpleasant things happen when you draw the guards' attentions--it still carries throughout the cell, pulling at ears, demanding to be heard. He has the bearing of a military man: his close-cropped hair and stern goatee still show signs of the precise martial cut. His ice-cold blue eyes show little, if any, emotion despite the dark humor of his words.
He peers around himself, measuring his fellows before turning back to the young girl. "And, how did you end up in a place like this? It's odd for one so young to be dealt with so harshly. Or, to even commit a crime that merits such punishment. They don't send common pickpockets and urchins to Branderscar."
Tatienne Talbot lifts her head at the sound of her cellmates. The relic hunter had just been having the most lovely daydream, about tea and warm spring days. This fondly remembered day, of course, being special; it was the day that Taty's own mother succumbed to the poison her child had seen her slipped into her food, day after day, each one a small step along the path of worsening health. All that work - matricide isn't easy to get away with, you know - just to one day end up here, in a dank cell in this light-blasted land, days, or perhaps hours even, from the executioner's axe? Not a chance in hells. Tatienne Talbot was, of course, a Chel, and Chels didn't just succumb to misfortune like a... a Galtan or something.
No, things were grim, but they could be worse. Taty's head was still attached after all. And, her shackles would be easy enough to slip...
Taty flexes her wrists. Red, sore. Then her arms. Also red, sore. Craning her neck, Taty stares down the wall to her companions. If they look back, they see a woman of very typical Chelish descent, with black hair and brown eyes, to go with pale skin, lightly sunkissed. Her face is young, perhaps mid-twenties, and slightly freckled. Taty's body looks of someone who exercises regularly, but not out of necessity; thin and sinewy, from life of leisure, rather than large and muscular, from a life of labor.
"Not that interesting, I'm afraid. I was arrested at port. False-bottom chest discovered, blasphemy charged. Blasphemy!"
Pausing, Taty licks her lips, finding them chapped and cracked. "Tell me, what would I have won, were my story good enough?"
"And you, sir. You have the look of a soldier. How did you end up here, with the rest of us?"
Balam flexes his arms and legs. It's not a move to impress or show-off, although the prodigious strength of his arms is impressive. Rather, they are clearly the motions of a man preventing his limbs from becoming stiff. "I am Balam Kael, a holy knight of the God of this World. The very evening I took my vows, I was accused of attempted murder." He shrugs, the movement ripples through his corded muscles. "I suppose it wouldn't be "attempted" if the inquisition hadn't interrupted the ceremony. On the other hand, they didn't care about the lives they took when they attacked our temple." His cold voice takes a bitter tone at the end.
"I suppose you were charged with bringing artifacts of your faith into this country?" He shakes his head. "Talingarde is a land of freedom, peace, and mercy. As long as you believe as House Darius says you should, accept their capricious and self-serving laws, and blindly swallow the lies of their faith." He chuckles and lifts his hands. "All faiths are equal in Talingarde, but Mitra's is most equal of all. "
The skeletal figure chained with the group finally moves giving a sense of life to the man with a demonic skull for a face. Reaching down he scratches at the spot between what you can only assume are eyebrows. The man himself while looking all skin and bones is on the athletic side, but the sickly pallor to the skin of the rest of his body belies that.
"Finally some conversation," A broad toothy smile stretches across his face. "Lass your right about the boredom it can be killer."
As Wraith scans the group his eyes land on the big soldier. Now this guy would be a great subject for some of the more martial troops I have in mind. Oh well, not like I'll get the opportunity to test them out.
"So blasphemy, heh not bad. Attempted murder, who hasn't tried to kill someone at least once... Twice if they deserved it. A couple staying quiet about their crimes." With mocking bowing movements, limited by the chains placed on him. "I can at least attest to several different crimes but they decided, mostly cause they could prove this one, to charge me with grave robbing!" After a mocking shocked face, he ends it with a smirk.
Wraith quiets down as the knight and tourist talk on, its not long before Wraith comments, "What! There's other faiths besides Mitra?! I had no idea, I thought I heard rumors of a dark god being worshiped centuries ago. But like myself I figure most cults and peoples of the darker side of life picked causes and sources of power not friendly with life." Its obvious as he jokes about other faiths, you can see he knows of them but perhaps doesn't care in any particular way about them.
"What would you win? The game. That's how games work."
"But hold a minute; this tree trunk next to me asked, 'How did I end up here?' Well, I'm as surprised as you are! I did not think the judges would have the sack to send a maiden child to Branderscar. I underestimated them, I admit it."
"I am to be burned to death." She cocks her head thoughfully. "I wonder if they have a backup plan, in case that doesn't work? Can they just yank me off the stake and behead me, or will they have to sentence me all over again?"
She grimaces. "Have none of you heard the tales, then? Of the Laughing Pyre? During my trial it seemed like the rabble could talk of nothing else. I got so many letters from people who were convinced I was innocent...at the beginning, anyway. The letters near the end weren't as friendly."
"Of course there are other gods...do you think Mitra could have made this world on his own? He can't even come up with a decent set of rules. Look, they sentenced you to death for trying to take someone out of his grave, and him to death for trying to put someone in to his grave." She snorts. "It's all a muddle."
"And they've got all the wrong people in power. The presiding judge in my case told me, 'Miss Stoker, it gives me no pleasure to sentence you to death by burning.' I looked him right in the eye and said, 'Well, you're in the wrong line of work then, aren't you?'"
She chews her lip a moment. "Incidentally, don't call me Miss Stoker. Geborah will do."
A high pitched voice come from somewhere close to their knees. A black and white rodent, small. Beady eyes. His fur matted to a poi t where it seemed he had gone for a swim. He looks up at the tall ones
"not know why I'm here here. Was dragged away way. Said I was talking to evil thing things. Not know what they mean by that that. Now I have to die die..."
Tatienne's head cocks as Balem mentions the God of the World. Two of us? Quite the coincidence. The relic hunter stays quiet as the others talk, though Taty can't help but roll her eyes at Geborah's answer to her question. Children.
Still, her line about the judge brought a laugh - a high, polite, mirthful laugh.
"I prefer games with more concrete objectives, dear. I am Tatienne Talbot, of Taldor. Or so my servants thought. I might as well come clean, it won't matter one way or the other. I am Tatienne Leroung, of House Leroung, Noblity of Cheliax, Empire of Devils."
"Yes, Balem, you heard correctly. It seems we are kindred spirits. And my pointy-headed friend, you and I have a connection as well. I have robbed graves, though not for the corpses."
Turning to look at the rodent, who she had missed at first glance, Tatienne frowns. "You don't know what you did to end up here? Well, fear not, rat. You don't have to die. None of us do. Here's a game with a concrete objective for us to play. How do we escape this Brandescar?"
Jezabel dangles from her chains limply, smiling lips constantly moving but gaze unfocused. Speaking soundlessly at nothing...
Her hair Is a wild tangle of brown locks, and though she seems like she might have been pretty out in the world, here she is filthy and pale.
Suddenly she bursts out laughing--a joyful, manic, crazed laugh that would send chills down the spines of less-hardened souls. It continues a long time, when she suddenly stops.
"A game, a game, what's the game," she sings softly to herself. She continues on singing for a while, non-sensesical little bits of gibberish.
Suddenly she stops and laughs again. "I hear the world, the voices locked inside... and other worlds...." the odd woman sings. "They whisper secrets... give power and things... And then one day they taught me how... To live and how to take a life... I saved myself, that's why I'm here. I tasted blood and bone and --" Suddenly the woman stops singing. She smiles then laughs. "I eat people." She smiles wider, revealing sharp teeth. "That's how I lived through famine. And when the famine stopped... Well... I didn't!" Suddenly she bursts out laughing again, apparently thinking the consumption of people is hilarious.
"Do I win?" she asks. "I've always loved games."
Then just as suddenly as she spoke, Jezabel goes back to singing non-sense. "A needlle-deedle-dying eyes, eyes, I ate the boy and loved his eyes, eyes, eyes, I lost my home and lost my name, but never lost the voice they sang..."
"Get out, get out?" She whispers. "You want out?" she asks Geborah. She smiles again. "I want out. I'm huuuuuungry...." she whispers in a sing-song voice.
"I could gnaw off my hand, then slip through the chain, but then escaping's no fun without my hands..." She looks to the others and explains. "Other people are for taking apart... I'd rather be whole."
Balam purses his lips as listens to the others, and then stretches to test his fetters. "I have little use for games or jests of any sort. The only game I prefer is the one on the field of battle with lives held in the balance. But," He grins with a nod towards Tatienne. "I like your game."
He tugs a bit at his bonds, judging if they can be loosened.
Balam tests his chains, finding them well-anchored. It would take a great deal of strength to rip the manacles out of the wall, to say nothing of the iron chain binding their legs. It would also be noisy, and alert the guards outside.
Also, everyone thinks the creepy lady’s singing isn’t very good - her voice seems dry and a bit hoarse, as though she hasn’t been given enough water.
Jezebel strains forward and turns her head to get a good look at all of her fellow prisoners. She watches Balam struggle against his chains. She smiles.
"Has anyone ever told you you look delicious?"
Jezebel tries to slip her hands out of her chains.
Jezebel strains forward and turns her head to get a good look at all of her fellow prisoners. She watches Balam struggle against his chains. She smiles.
"Has anyone ever told you you look delicious?"
Jezebel tries to slip her hands out of her chains.
[dice=Escape Artist]1d20+1
Balam grins. "They all say that. So few actually mean it. They find the steel a bit too tough to chew ." He looks at his chains in through for a moment. "Anyone know how to pick a lock?"
I have robbed graves, though not for the corpses."
"My dear Tatienne while I may be a grave robber, who ever said it was for corpses'?" with a smirk and a laugh, "Assumption is the mother of all &#*@ ups! In this case you got it right, but you can't always assume. I've been remiss though, you've shared your names, might as well share mine Wraith like the spectre."
"Oh creepy lady singing that creepy song, if only I met you outside these walls. I'm sure we would have had great times together...." with a shiver Wraith listen to her creepy song.
With a bit of a struggle he pulls at his manacles, but doesn't see much of a change except some new bruises and scrapes on his wrists. "I doubt were going anywhere soon based on our attempts."
Smiling back to Balam, Tatienne returns the nod. "It is the only game worth playing right now, Sir Balam."
At least there was some good company in this cell. And then Taty grits her teeth as the bedraggled girl starts singing.
Closing her eyes, the relic hunter centers herself. Poor girl. Addled, obviously.
Taty demurs to Wraith. "Of course, Wraith. I intend no offense. You are correct - assumptions do us no good here."
"I'm all for testing the boundaries of our little world, but... what happens when you slip those chains, or you pull them from the walls? We need information. When do the guards come? Do they come singly, in pairs, or en masse? How heavily are they armed? How is food delivered? Do they respond to calls? We'll likely get one chance at this. Let's make good use of it."
"At any rate, I can pick a lock. So that's something in our favor. But if you've got lockpicks, I don't want to know how you got it in here."
Jezabel laughs at Balam's retort. "You're funny. I like you."
---
"Good times, good times," Jezabel sings sweetly to Wraith, smiling madly at the strange looking fellow. "Creepy Lady's a fine name. I've been called plenty of others. But my true name is Jezebel, if you'd like to use it. It might be nice to hear something other than the world voices call it before the end..."
Jezabel then gets distracted and begins to sing a non-sense little tune under her breath. "Voices, voices, voices, diddle, diddle doo, tell me what to dooo, diddle diddle doo... astra, mela, thanaaaa, hamatula tooo, whisper whisper in my ear, abrikandiluuuuuu.... bdellavritra taught me how to tear them in twoooo..."
---
"And I'd like to see you wield lock picks in your teeth." Jezabel adds with a laugh, suddenly stopping her breathy little song.
"Is there a stick or something we can use to fashion into a lock pick? " He looks down at his hands. "I suppose we could always make a lock pick from a bone." He looks up from his hands. " Didn't someone mention attracting the guards? Do you think we could overpower them if they come near? Say, to check on a dead prisoner, or to shut up an obnoxious one? Could we pick their pockets for the key? "
"I can be obnoxious," Jezabel replies with a smile, clearly stating the obvious. "Just say wheeeeeeeen." she says the last word in a singsong voice.
"Oh Jezabel or can i call you Jeza?" Is sounds more like Jessa the way Wraith says it.
"I dont recall Balam, while I think a hand being crewed off in jest was offered no bones were offered into play!"
Playing with the chains Wraith takes a look around the cell and prison.
"Outside the door the with the light comes through, there is that door off to the side. Wonder if there's anything inside the cell?" Wraith nods to the door off to the west.
"You can call me anything, anything, anything..." Jezabel replies in a singsong voice with a smile at Wraith.
"Hmmm. Jezabel wins," Geborah decides, "And, ah, I think she might be my new best friend."
"So you folks want to play some games with our wardens? That certainly sounds wiser than trying to make plans. How many scores, how many hundreds of murderers and blasphemers have hung from these chains and hatched desperate escape plans? Our jailers have been playing that game for a long time. They're prepared. Look, they even have tiny mouse manacles for our beady-eyed friend."
"Beat them at their own game? That would take a miracle."
"So...our first move should be to pray for one."
The little rodent seemed very confused about the way the long-legs were talking. Yet, it did seem they were all here to die, probably. He was still not sure why though. All he did was talk to his friend, now he is going to die.
"Freinds?" Jezabel asks Geborah. She smiles widely, revealing sharp teeth. "Oh, I love friends. Friends are fun! Not for eaaaaaatiiiiiiiing!" She sings the last word eerily.
---
"Pray?" Jezaebel asks. "I don't pray. I just ask the voices if I need something... They usually answer, you know. Teach me something, show my something." Jezabel closes her eyes and listens to something none of you can hear.
"Show me how to get out." she says loudly with a smile on her face. "Show my how to escape! Teach me how to leeeeeeave." Suddenly she stops and smiles.
"Oh, how delightful!" she exclaims loudly. "Oh, guuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaard!" she calls loudly. "I speak to the voices, naughty, bad, FUN voices... They know things! Yes, they do! They know all kinds of things!" She yells. "Do you want to hear what they told me about YOU?"
Jezabel smiles widely and then lets out a crazed laugh.
To the guard she keeps yelling. "They told me there's someone you HATE. Someone you hate and wish harm upon! Does Mitra know? Do your stern friends know? You wish them harm! Your wish them PAIN!" Jezabel bursts out laughing again.
"If you let me out I'll kill them for you! I'll drive my fingers through their stomach! I'll tear their insides out and bring them to you! Would you like a necklace? I'll cook them for dinner and we can shaaaaaaare theeeeeeeem!"
"They won't tell me who, though! Would you like to tell me?" Jezabel waits for an answer.
"A guessing game it is! Who must you HATE that you won't admit to it? It must be HORRIBLE! The voices say it's horrible."
"Is it a guard? Strong and braver than you? Or a woman? Beautiful but taken by another? Do you want her? Do you hate her?" Jezabel lets out a laugh.
"The voices say it's worse! Is it your boss? Your neighbour? A priest? I think it's a CHILD. A delicious, whiny child!"
Jezabel laughs again. "Should I tell the other guards about you? That you wish pain on another? Should I request confession and tell all your secrets?"
Jezabel continues to try taunting the guard into coming to shut her up....
Jezabel's and Wraith's attempts to slip their bonds fail - the chains are too tight on their wrists and ankles to escape, and neither has the skill with which to do so.
Jezabel then gets incredibly obnoxious, taunting the guard in a sing-song and shouting loudly. The door to the cell block opens, and two guards enter. One stays in the guardroom outside, holding a signal horn ready to blow at the first sign of trouble. The other comes into the cell, looking about and seeing only Jezabel being loud, he shouts at her. "Shut up you scum!"
Suddenly, coming in from the guard room are six more well-armed guards come into the room, led by a fat, well-dressed Sergeant of the Watch. The other two guards snap to attention. 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 Geborah, 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 your cell. The two who come in unchain Geborah 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 Geborah 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.
"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."
At the sight of all the guards entering the room, Jezabel smiles. When Geborah is being summoned out of the room, Jezabel laughs loudly and hysterically. She doesn't stop unless someone comes to force her.
Once they've gone Jezabel stops laughing and smiles. She closes her eyes and listens to something none of you can hear. After a while she whispers. "Coming, coming, coming... Freedom's coming..." over and over again.
As Blackerly is leaving, "Oh sergeant, don't forget my lovely warning, I know you must remember it since you personally branded me." With an evil grin Wraith leans back against the walls.
Following Jeza's creepy singing, "You've signed your fate when you've branded me, one way or another when I leave this place your bones shall rise to haunt this place!"
After they leave, "Woah, can't believe that while I was in pain I was still able to curse in rhyme. Well at least a little." turning to Jezabel. "So was it too over the top?
During Jezabel's raving, Geborah bends her head in silent prayer. Asmodeus, I am thy eye. Asmodeus, I am thy hand. Asmodeus, I am thy tongue. Asmodeus, I am thy face. Asmodeus, I am thy word. Asmodeus, I am thy fire. Let thy will be done.
When the guards arrive, she is surprised, but also slightly smug. "Pray for salvation, I tell you," she says to her cellmates as the guards unchain her.
Geborah follows willingly enough, only to freeze momentarily when Blackerly says a fine lady, earning her more shoves from the guards. She stumbles on down the hall, struggling to keep hope and anxiety off her face.
Geborah falls weak-kneed into the chair, staring at the woman's matching green eyes. Then it's not her. Unless...a glamor! She tries to concentrate all her will on seeing who the 'lady' really is.
When the strange woman speaks, disappointment crashes over Geborah. It's not her voice. Fool, she would spoken to you from the torch flames if she had aught to say. The girl struggles to regain her composure, staying silent and watching as Blackerly and the guards leave.
Spellbound! This woman has the power to free me. She comes to attention in her seat, focusing on Tiadora's exact words. She said, 'He did bid me...' So her mysterious friend isn't Mother either. She hears her out, then reaches her filthy, chained hands out for the veil and speculatively turns it over and over.
Suddenly she stops, and fixes her one red eye on her visitor. "You and our mutual friend are looking for someone dangerous and desperate, are you? Well, you've found me. My new friends too. I shan't ask more about you two now, lest the guards torture it out of me if my escape fails. But you can tell me what you've seen of this place, the way in and out, where the guards are. Order your thrall to unlock us at midnight, and expect us before dawn."
Hate burns in Balam’s chest as he Sergeant Blackberry stepped in to the cell. He could still smell his sizzling flesh as the man pressed the iron into his flesh. He could hear the sound of his skin boiling and popping over the sergeant’s mad laughter. How Balam longed to snap the man’s neck. And, now, to have him within grasp, but so frustratingly out of reach all the same was an agony far greater than any he had endured in his life.
It was a small comfort that he was obviously controlled by someone. But who? And to what end? Judging how his fellow prisoners behaved, at least some of them had figured it out. Nine guards, including the fat sergeant, were not favorable odds, even armed and armored. Naked, as he was, to fight them was to court death. And, with the sergeant oddly being controlled, it would do better to keep his counsel and see how events play out.
Tatienne cocks her head and watches events play out, silent and appraising, like a bird watching a worm. There was little benefit in drawing attention to herself, so the relic hunter let the addled one provide her cover.
Two guards at a time, but they will come if enough ruckus is raised. One outside the cell, with a horn. He would have to die first. Then, the one inside the cell. Or preferably, they die at the same time. There would need to be a distraction, and a way to hide our attackers from the first to die. If we could just get loose of these damn chains...
If Taty feels any emotion upon Blackerly's entrance, she hides it well. After all, the man would be burnt much worse than she, if the relic hunter had anything to say about it.
"I cannot order him to do that. It is a command he would never obey. You're resourceful, I'm sure you can figure something out."
She's lying. She could do it, she just won't.
Studying the veil, you find that it is made of a fine gossamer silk. You also find that it is covered in several small cloth patches, in various shapes - a couple of daggers, a window, a sack, a coiled rope, a lantern, some sort of vial, what looks like a stack of coins and, perhaps most importantly, a patch in the shape of a set of lock picks and a patch in the shape of Asmodeus's holy symbol.
As you look up from studying the veil, Tiadora smirks and says, "As I said, you're resourceful. I'm sure you can figure something out. Anything else, dearest? Make it quick."
"So what was that all about?" Wraith asks his companions. "The two guards I expected but the escort and that man were a total shock."
At this time s pained expression crosses Wraith's face, with a shrug he uses one of his horns to scratch at the brand.
Oh if i could get a spell off and if only I had some onyx, I could truly make that curse come true.
Trying his luck you hear him keep his voice low and try moving his hands in rhythmic and predetermined patterns. The movements are hindered by the manacles, but by the determination on his face he Wraith wants to find his limitations in the cell.
With a wince, Wraith's wrist finds a sharp edge on the manacles. "Well that hurt, in many ways."
"Why kill kill us? Did we do them the harm harm? Fireskorn not know know. But it does make him angry, yes yes. It does" he looks at the others for answers
Jezabel smiles at Wraith. "No such thing as over the top, dear."
After Fireskorn speaks, Jezabel sings eerily. "They like to kill to get their fill of hate, hate hate... They twist your fate, they make you wait, for hate, hate hate...." Her song petters off and she laughs. "Hypocrisy is why they kill killers. Hypocrisy and fear. It's such a laugh!" She turns serious and says ominously. "You just need to get in on the joke..."
Balam coldly watches the guards as they stand watch in the cell. He doesn't speak, much, preferring to let the others do the talking. He locks eyes with one of the guards, piercing him with his own blue orbs. "You will die last. After Jezabel has fed on your nethers, and flayed the flesh from your limbs, you will die. She will burn away the wounds, so you don't bleed, and feed you the remains of your companions... while you watch from your perfect eyes. You will hear their screams. You will hear your screams, and smell the sweet tang of their lives being ended, even as you cling to your own. You will fight at first, of course. You are a man of Mitra. Just. Holy. Pure. But, eventually, you will thirst. You will hunger. And, you will feed. You will gladly drink and taste their blood on your lips with your perfect, unspoiled tongue. You will drool at every gobbet of flesh tossed towards you that you see with your perfect, unclouded eyes. Their screams of agony will be your dinner bell, a chorus of angels to your unblemished ears. Then... after you are broken, you will beg her to rip out your tongue. She will. Then, she will slit your throat and suck out your eyes so that the last thing you hear and see as you choke on your own blood is her teeth descending on you, ripping your eyes from their sockets as you scream in pitiful agony. "
He smirks and remains seated as unmoving as stone. Finally, he releases the guard, and allows him to look away.
Geborah presses the veil to her face, then flicks it through the air, then cups it between her hands and whispers to it in Infernal. "This is starting to feel like a test. You should tell me what the rules are."
"If you're not allowed to tell me about Branderscar, how about the land outside? If we are pursued over the moor, can our friend get us to safety? How long will he wait for us there? How will we recognize him? Is the invitation for just we six, or should we bring as many prisoners as we can release?"
If the mysterious lady isn't being any more helpful, Geborah will frown thoughtfully, nod, and wad the veil up into a ball inside one fist, trusting that the tiny silk lump will go unnoticed as she is moved from shackles to shackles. "Very well, I'll play along. Perhaps I'll even surprise you." She allows herself to be led meekly back to the cell, but on the way back she makes note of everything she can--cells, halls, doors, windows, guards, prisoners--looking especially for stairs back up to the surface.
Smirking, Tiadora replies in Common, "I understand the moor is quite typical for its sort of area. As for how long - well, you are to be executed in three days' time. I doubt our acquaintance will wait long after that." Tilting her head, she continues, "I believe the only prisoners here are currently the six of you. The rest of your questions you'll find out the answer to if you make it to the manor."
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 Geborah 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.
** spoiler omitted **
The cell block door opens, and the guards escort Geborah 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.
Geburah hisses just loud enough that even Jezabel, on the far side of the cell, can hear. "Be silent a while. Let the guards' attention wander. We have an opportunity; I'll tell you when it's safe."
Geburah waits patiently in the dark until she hears a bit of noise that suggests the guards are distracted--chatter, coughing, footsteps, whatever. Then she waits a little longer. And a little longer.
Finally, she whispers, "It seems someone wants to meet with us. He sent a spy in to arrange it; she bewitched Blackerly and passed me this." She opens her fist and shakes a long, white piece of cloth out of it. "What it is, if you can't see, is a silk veil with tools and weapons and implements embroidered on it. I think we could use it somehow, to get free...if we can puzzle out how it works."
She starts playing with the scarf, trying different things. She takes hold of an embroidered Asmodean unholy symbol and tugs on it.
Fireskorn looks at the piece of cloth. Trying to puzzle out what the female was trying to explain to them. What the other tall legs have said. No one wants them to leave. So who would help them escape. Very interesting indeed
"Interesting. Apparently there are other players in our game, eh Tatitenne?" He looks at the silk with only mild curiosity. Magic was a potent tool on the battlefield: a cowardly, dishonorable tool used by people too weak and infirm to test themselves against the strength and will of others face to face. He didn't trust mages any farther than he could throw them, and their artifacts and works even less. But, he would be a fool to turn away an offered weapon. After all, a fire was dangerous, but it was even more dangerous wielded by someone else. "It looks too fragile to use to strangle someone with." He hefts a piece in his hand. "Maybe."
The guard Balam has chosen to make his speech to seems shaken by it, but another walks over to Balam and says, ”Shut your mouth, filth!” before swinging his leather-wrapped club into the soles of his bare feet.
The guards then leave.
After waiting and whispering to the others what happened, Geborah pulls at the Asmodean holy symbol patch. It easily comes away from the veil, turning into a silver unholy symbol of Asmodeus in her hand. Where the patch was is now merely a blank space in the veil.
If you’re going to escape, one single well-planned attempt will have a higher chance of success than several failed attempts.
The guard Balam has chosen to make his speech to seems shaken by it, but another walks over to Balam and says, ”Shut your mouth, filth!” before swinging his leather-wrapped club into the soles of his bare feet.
[dice=Attack vs Manacled, sitting Balam]1d20+4+4
[dice=Damage]1d6+2The guards then leave.
After waiting and whispering to the others what happened, Geborah pulls at the Asmodean holy symbol patch. It easily comes away from the veil, turning into a silver unholy symbol of Asmodeus in her hand. Where the patch was is now merely a blank space in the veil.
Balam smirks and spits blood as the guards leave. After Geborah pulls the Asmodean symbol free, he takes a keener look at the veil. "Any armor? A sword? Lockpicks?"
"Oooh! Yes!" Jezabel moans as Balam makes an awesomely disturbing monologue at the guard. She shrieks and attempts to clap her hands in glee.
When he's done, Jezabel exclaims "Marry me!" She smiles at him wickedly. "I promise I wouldn't eat my husband...."
---
As Geborah storms back in, Jezabel pouts. "Auww... Gone away, gone away, beat the fun right from her, gone away, gone away, spirit's gone away..." She lets out a cackling laugh, then continues to sing quiet gibberish to herself.
---
At the sight of the scarf:
"You don't know, don't know?" Jezabel mutters. "I know, I know, I know!" she mutters louder now, disguising her mutters as more... crazed muttering! Jezabel describes what it does and how to use it in a 'gibberish' song. "I can shoooooow yoooooou!" she ends in a sing song voice.
Then she continues her gibberish song off onto other topics so the guard's don't think it's strange.
Taking a look at the blow Balam took, Wraith smiles with a wicked grin at the man who will now be Balam's first victim in here if he gets the chance.
Once the men have left an Jezabel proclaims her love for the man, Wraith had a laugh at the woman who's life seems to be bouts of extreme emotions.
As Geborah returns and seems to demonstrate the item she returns with, thoughts start popping into Wraiths head. Ok, we have someone willing to aid us, at least to a lesser extent. Now what we need is a plan...
"Lady Geborah, what else does that cloth have hidden in its folds? Plus what does anyone remember anything about the prison as we came in?"
This is a veil of useful items. The patches on it can be removed and turn into the objects they are shaped as. Items like this are usually in the shape of a robe, but the veil is much easier to smuggle into a prison.
When the silver pentagram appears, Geborah grins fiercely.
"Hail, Prince of Darkness! Hail, Asmodeus!", she hisses, every trace of her earlier petulance vanishing into ardent worship.
For the first time, she tosses her hair away from her face and opens her red eye wide. She lifts the Archstar to her face and glares through it, her pupil almost seeming to blaze crimson in the dark.
"By this token, we can...well, trust is not the right word...rely on our new friends. They are the answer to my prayers." She thinks back to the cold kiss Tiadora gave her and feels an unexpected shiver travel up and down her spine. Asmodeus always answers prayers, she thinks. But sometimes the answer is mocking laughter.
She shakes her head to clear it. "We may just have joined The Resistance."
"Now the game begins. We need to establish rules. First, no more stupid gestures. We don't want to annoy the guards; we want to take them by surprise and kill them. We have time to prepare--three days until any of us are executed. Let us be cunning serpents, not mad dogs."
"The veil still has nine objects. Lockpicks, and a pair of daggers. Those should get us out of this cell. There's also a lantern, a coil of rope, and a window, by Geryon's gangrenous groin. If we can get to an outside wall, that might give us a way through it. There's a sack and a vial, no way to tell what's in them. And there's a pile of coins, which should be useful once we're free."
"Once we're out of the prison, we'll still have to escape pursuit. That's when we'll need to rely on our mysterious benefactor. The spy gave me directions to his safe house. Which brings us to the next rule: Keep Geborah safe, because she's the only one who knows how to get away from all this."
Geborah kisses the Archstar, wraps it in the veil, and conceals them both in her ragged shift. "Easier to hide a small bundle, until we have laid our trap," she whispers. A flash of concern crosses her face. "Ah...one of you can pick locks, right? Maybe the talking mouse?"