In the kingdom of Talingarde, many crimes may send you to Branderscar Prison, but the sentence has but one meaning. You are wicked and irredeemable. Each of you received the same greeting when you arrived. You were held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with a runic F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’ and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the great and eternal love of Mitra and his chosen mortal vassals.
Condemned, you face at best a life of shackles and servitude in the nearby salt mines. Others might await the “gentle” ministrations of the inquisitors so that co-conspirators may be revealed and confessions extracted. Perhaps, some of you will be spared this ordeal. Perhaps instead you have come to Branderscar to face the final judgment. In three days, the executioner arrives and the axe falls or the pyre will be lit. Through fire or steel, your crimes will be answered.
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 treatment has been given any prisoner – male or female, commoner or noble – all of the forsaken are bound and imprisoned together. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain. Your arms are secured 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?
The hulking half-orc hung from his chains, shifting his weight as he tried to get comfortable, a wiry black scuff of hair growing on his chin. Occasionally, the others can hear Baolo grumbling something about what he would do to these bastard guards if he was back in his shop.
The man hanging beside the half-orc is his exact opposite in almost every way. He hangs almost motionless. His skinny hands barely fit in the sturdy manacles and the dirty rags hang off him. He don't look like he's starving, but it wouldn't take much for him to get in calorie trouble.
The once handsome man hangs dejectedly from his manacles, greasy blonde hair hanging limply about his face. The rags he wears look like they may have once been fine - not that of the nobility, but still well-off. They do nothing to hide the runic ‘F’ brand on his arm, not what appear to be the bruises from a rough transport to the prison.
The only woman among the bunch is odd for more reasons than just that. She is a half orc but unlike her male counterpart her skin is such a pale grey as to be almost white. It is that skin tone that makes her blue tattoos stand out even more. Her earlobes are oddly empty, the massive earrings, or eartusks, that she wore there had been removed when they chained her up.
That in itself had been a bit of a spectacle. The guard that chained her up was a fresh recruit and he had been nervous. The fact that Kat hadn't stopped grinning while being chained up hadn't helped. When he had to come close to her face to fasten the chains she had licked his cheek, severely startling the young man. The punch to the gut from another guard had been worth it.
Now she hung there amid the others, whispering prayers to the Erinyes Queen to rain down damnation on the guards so that she might break free to avenge this injustice.
Hanging from the chains within the cell is a lithe elf, his skin the paleness of the moon and his hair a stark white. His eyes remain focused upon the floor, burning a hole within the floor. He had been silent the entire time he was here within Brandenscar, only making noise when the brand had been burned into his arm.
The usual beauty of the elves was not found in this one, whose body carried scars along his form. His eyes were too wide, those black eyes merciless and cold. Like so many of the others, he waited for death to come. Talingarde would have its justice. Only when one of his fellow prisoners stirred did his eyes take the moment to flicker upwards and watch their movements before falling back upon the dirty cell floor.
A bald dark man hangs among them, his body scarred with pinprick burns from spending hours at the forge in his youth, his muscles bulge indicating great strength. His eyes look almost dead as though deep in the depths of despair.
The elf's head slowly lifts after moments pass by, those black orbs looking over each one of them. It was a strange assortment of individuals, some matching his more graceful frame while the others had definition from years of hard work. The male half-orc muttered to himself, cursing the guards and promising the most unpleasant of activities should he ever get his hands upon them.
He heard rumors of a strange half-orc, their kind was uncommon in Talingarde. Some kind of murderer or something. The others were relatively unknown but he had heard enough about Brandenscar to know that mild delinquents were not sent her for rehabilitation. For the least offensive of them, they would be sent into the salt mines to work until their bodies broke. For those guilty of crimes like himself, they would meet their end here.
"None of you happened to hide some kind of chew or anything, did you? Something to pass the time." His voice is strained but calm, the words coming clearly from his bruised and cracked ribs. The guards were not kind to the would-be assassin, one who threatened their god's chosen leader. His brotherhood of assassins would not come and save him; he had failed after all. The runic "F" on his shoulder ensured that he'd be damned even if he escaped. How useless this whole venture was.
You were thrown in a wagon, manacled and bound with other prisoners. You were hooded with a sackcloth bag. You were watched and ordered not to speak a word. Any disobedience was punished by a sharp knock to the head or in the gut. You could feel the movement of the wagon, but where were you headed?
Hooded and bound, you were thrown into the wagon. The sackcloth of your hood obscured much, but you could still hear much and see a little. There was the cry of a sea gull. You must be near the ocean. You could hear the waves break on a rocky shore line. The wagon stopped and you could hear the bark of a dog, instantly silenced by a command. There were well-trained guard dogs. You were led over a long bridge. They stopped again, though only briefly. You could hear a portcullis being lifted at some gatehouse. Finally they removed you from the wagon. You heard guards, mocking you as double doors were opened. You were led upstairs past more guards. There was the heavy thunk of a door being unlocked. Only then did they remove your hood and put you in your cell. You could smell the burning brazier nearby. You were about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison...
You were thrown in a wagon, manacled and bound with other prisoners. You were hooded with a sackcloth bag. You were watched and ordered not to speak a word. Any disobedience was punished by a sharp knock to the head or in the gut. You could feel the movement of the wagon, but where were you headed?
Hooded and bound, you were led into a wagon. The hood was of rough sackcloth and though you could see little, your other senses were sharp and more than made up for your partial blindness. You could hear the waves break on a rocky shore line. The wagon stopped and you could hear the bark of a dog, instantly silenced by a command from a guard. There were well-trained guard dogs. You were led over a bridge, more than a hundred feet long. They switched back and forth and then stopped again, though only briefly. You could hear a portcullis being lifted at some sort of gatehouse. You heard soldiers on the wall of this castle, hailing the wagon. A password ... they exchanged a password though you could not hear what it was. Finally they removed you from the wagon. There were guards, mocking you as great double doors were opened. You were led upstairs...past more guards. There was the heavy thunk of a door being unlocked. Only then did they remove your hood and put you in your cell. You could smell the burning brazier nearby. You were about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison...
You were thrown in a wagon, manacled and bound with other prisoners. You were hooded with a sackcloth bag. You were watched and ordered not to speak a word. Any disobedience was punished by a sharp knock to the head or in the gut. You could feel the movement of the wagon, but where were you headed?
Hooded and bound, there was little you could hear or see on your way into the prison. The wagon ride was rough and bumpy. The guards were impatient and loud. But you did hear something else ... the barking of a dog as the wagon came to a stop. And then they brought you, dragged you up stairs to your cell. Only then did they remove the hood and place in your in chains....
You were thrown in a wagon, manacled and bound with other prisoners. You were hooded with a sackcloth bag. You were watched and ordered not to speak a word. Any disobedience was punished by a sharp knock to the head or in the gut. You could feel the movement of the wagon, but where were you headed?
Hooded and bound, there was little you could hear or see on your way into the prison. The wagon ride was rough and bumpy. The guards were impatient and loud. But you did hear something else ... the barking of a dog as the wagon came to a stop. And then they brought you, dragged you up stairs to your cell. Only then did they remove the hood and place in your in chains....
You were thrown in a wagon, manacled and bound with other prisoners. You were hooded with a sackcloth bag. You were watched and ordered not to speak a word. Any disobedience was punished by a sharp knock to the head or in the gut. You could feel the movement of the wagon, but where were you headed?
Hooded and bound, you were thrown into the wagon. The sackcloth of your hood obscured much, but you could still hear much and see a little. There was the cry of a sea gull. You must be near the ocean. You could hear the waves break on a rocky shore line. The wagon stopped and you could hear the bark of a dog, instantly silenced by a command. There were well-trained guard dogs. You were led over a long bridge. They stopped again, though only briefly. You could hear a portcullis being lifted at some gatehouse. Finally they removed you from the wagon. You heard guards, mocking you as double doors were opened. You were led upstairs past more guards. There was the heavy thunk of a door being unlocked. Only then did they remove your hood and put you in your cell. You could smell the burning brazier nearby. You were about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison...
Saulric groans from pain as he looks up at his companions. Whas goon oon? He mangles his words before spitting out a wad of blood and a tooth.
The beginning of the end, I fear. Z says softly. Welcome to Brandscar Prison, ladies and gentlemen. Don't get comfy. We won't be here long.
The pale half orc looked up at the comments of the skinny man, the grin never leaving her face "This is no end. All they do when they kill me is send my soul to my Queen, strengthening her. Perhaps, one day, she'll even send me back to wreak havoc."
The greener half-orc snorted at Katherina's words before commenting, "Don't know bout none of that. I's just wished I coulda butchered that puny nobleman before I was caught. Attempted murder...ha! How could they not know about the other five saps who made their way to the mouths o' the poor?" Then, hearing Saulric speak, Baolo comments, "Ain't never heard o' Branderscar before? Them holier than thous at the orphanage chewed my ear off about how I'd end up here. Guess they was right." The last sentence was said with a very toothy sneer, as if Baolo was unimpressed with those threats.
Brandescar? Everthing's fuzzy. Who are you?
”Branderscar is a prison - the most secure prison in Talingarde. Those who are sent here will face either death or a short, brutal life in the salt mines. The guards who escorted me from Ghastenhall were quite fond of telling me about it. I have no chew, elf - I have nothing. As, I’m sure, none of us do...” The blonde man’s eyes, incredibly blue, looked up as he spoke, then returned to the floor as he trailed off, despair evident in them.
"Shame." Said the soft, melodic voice from the elf hanging from the chains nearby. His body remained limp and relaxed, those dark eyes followed over the others that seemed to have been captured. The cry of the seagulls confirmed it; they had to be in Brandenscar. There was no way out from here then. What a dismal ending.
Looking to the disoriented man, Araton's head tilted to the side and he blinked for the first time since he began watching his fellow prisoners.
"I am Araton Fal. Assassin. Failure now." With no real commitment to it, he shrugged softly. "I always hated working with amateurs, it is what I get for taking the risk..."
The slightly greying man who had first identified their cage seems resigned to his fate. He says slowly, I'm Lzarus P Ratilerre, though my friends call me Z and my foes have taken to calling me the Rat. I'm a doctor.
Saulric looks around the room at the sad state of each of the prisoners. Looks like we all could use a good doctor right now. Looking over Araton he smiles. What happened?
"I'm Katherina Woods though people call me Kat. Foundling, former scullery and kitchen maid to the king and most recently, bandit. I guess I can add convict and prisoner to that list now." She looked over her fellow inmates. Her former companions weren't among them and she was sure many survived the fight. So apparently teenage stupidity did carry more weight than banditry. Apparently the system valued the sword arm of some noble brat over the lives of merchants.
Saulric smiled at the assassin and he would lift his head up once more. The swollen, busted lip wasn't quite fresh but it still stung every time he spoke.
"The guards did not like the way I looked at them." There was a coldness in those black eyes, not an empty and dead look but a calculating and wicked intelligence behind them. Araton was not used to speaking to others, the Ordos Sanguis was a very quiet place. To make noise was to invite death. Yet if death was already coming, what would be the harm.
"I was betrayed, pure and simple. The inquisitor of the Mitran faith is far more capable than I imagined and I trusted local talent and not my own. It led to my capture." Araton, if he ever could, would hunt down whoever led their conspiracy to be uncovered. Death by poisoning during communion. It was a priceless act.
Saulric looks over at Katherina. Yes, you look familiar.
Should be more careful who you trust in the future then assassin.
Saulric grimaces. Not that we have much of a future.
"Guess I might as well tell ya'll a bit 'bout me ain't the worst thing I can do while chained up in a cell on an island prison," Baolo grunts. Before he could say more, he grimaces a bit as the raw, burned flesh on his arm rubbed against the shackles on his left wrist. "Gah, whoever decided to mark me there is gonna get me boot in his arse...if I happen to get free that is. Anyway, tha name's Baolo. Had me own butcher shop I operated outta until that prat Knight of Alerion found out me side operation...and saved a more fortunate than 'e deserves son o' some noble family from meeting me meat cleaver."
The man looked up again and said, ”My name is Casius Flann. I am here for kidnapping the daughter of a wealthy, important banker - despite the fact I didn’t force her to go anywhere or do anything. But what do I know? The magistrate didn't owe me loans. I didn’t pay any witnesses to give false testimony. I don’t think she was important enough to warrant getting thrown in here.”
Casius is clearly bitter about his treatment. His manner of speech is refined and cultured, but certain pronunciations betray a lower class background - as though he aspired to be one of the wealthy, but had learned their mannerisms and speech by watching them.
As you are all conversing the door to your cell swings open. Six guards, heavily armed and ready for trouble, come into the cell led by a fat well-dressed sergeant of the watch. You all recognize this man, the one who laughed as your skin burn from the brand he was holding.
"You there!" He says pointing to Araton. "That’s the scum! Get ‘em unshackled. If any of you makes trouble, they’ll earn a thrashing! Today’s your lucky day, scum. You’ve got a visitor. How you ever warranted such a fine lady is beyond me. Seems she wants to say good-bye. Now step lively. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting." It seems at the fat sergeant is in a bit of a daze, perhaps never expecting any of you to receive a visitor.
As the guards come in Kat looks if the one that shackled her is among them. She had already freaked him out so pushing him would be easiest. Sadly he was not. Perhaps she had actually properly scared him.
The others news was stranger. The elf had a visitor?
Z is now curious. A visitor? For the Elf Araton? This was... unexpected to say the least.
Saulric struggles with his manacles intent on taking the opportunity to escape.
Araton smiled a wry, if humorless, smile. "So it seems. That...or the inquisitor was more dangerous than was estimated. Poor intelligence is the death of many a good plan." The rest continued to speak their history. There was no real reaction from the assassin as he heard their wicked tales of woe, how they ended up in such a dire and dark place to await their deaths. He would carefully take all the information in and learn what he could from his potential allies. There was not a chance that he would just wait here for death; no assassin trained by the Ordo Sanguis would just expect to die. Yet to escape would take tenacity, skill, and more than a bit of luck from where they were at.
Yet when the guards came and banged the door, Araton's face would show a face of confusion for just a moment when they mentioned that he had a visitor. Did a member of the order arrive to rescue him? Was it the traitor seeking to gloat over his defeat? The idea of a beautiful woman expecting him was just as confusing but his face resumed its mask-like appearance as he nodded.
"Very well. Free me and take me to her." He would do nothing to resist yet, instead ensuring to focus his entire attention on where he was brought and what he saw, heard, and smelled. Information was key, after all.
Seeing the man commanding the guards center the room, Baolo glares maliciously at the fat sergeant. This was the man who gave the order to sear Baolo's flesh. And if the half-orc ever got free, he would be sure to do the same to the pudgy man.
However, the glare quickly vanishes upon hearing that one of those he was chained up with has a visitor. Whose this elf that he gets a visitor, Baolo wonders as the elf is taken away.
Casius looks up, confused that someone got a visitor. Those sent to Branderscar never got visitors.
He ducked his head so they wouldn't think he was staring. Instead, he focused on the dazed sergeant, trying to determine if he'd taken a blow to the head or something.
As two of the guards unshackle Araton from the wall another walks up to the struggling Saulric drawing his club.
The guard hits the club on Saulric's stomach, but it's clearly not meant to be too painful. "Calm down big guy, there's no need for you to waste your energy."
Saulric bares his teeth. Pray I don't escape. Saulric studies the man intensely memorizing his face.
Casius says nothing - doing so would only draw the guards' attention to himself, which would only get him beaten. He may be due for death, but he certainly didn't intend to make his remaining days any more uncomfortable than they needed to be.
He covertly watches as the guards unshackle the elf - Araton - and march him from the cell. Who could have pulled the strings to visit him? Obviously not influential enough to manage a pardon, whoever it is.
Z also says nothing. No point. This reprieve would only make his return to the shackles more uncomfortable.
After seeing the guard's reaction to Saulic's actions, even Baolo was quick enough to check his own rashness, keeping quite as he turned his eyes down and fumed...wondering if he would get a visitor as well.
Kat simply shook her head when her fellow inmate got pummelled. That was the reward for being rash.
The guard shoots Saulric one last look before taking Araton from the cell.
You're roughly lead through the only other door in the room and quickly shoved into a chair, the room is vacant save for you, the guards, a wooden table, four chairs, and a hauntingly beautiful woman. This woman, who couldn't possibly be your visitor, is dressed in a elegant black dress and a soft silken vale. She looks as if she's heading to a funeral. Her hair is so platinum as to almost be white and her eyes are a vibrant green, almost unearthly so. And she has clearly been weeping.
“Oh, dearest,” proclaims the unfamiliar woman. “I’m so relieved you’re alive!” She quickly turns to the sergeant. “Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity’s sake?”
The sergeant goes blank for a bit and then quickly agrees. “Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.”
Araton is quiet and complacent as he moves through the hallways, his eyes flickering up and down the way to try and memorize where he was going and how many guards he could see. He may need that information if this was, in fact, his chance to escape. The order would never just pay for his return, they'd only provide the tools at best for him to escape with and would see if he lived or died escaping. Shoved into the chair, Araton's black eyes focus upon the strange woman on the other side of him. She was beautiful, incredibly so, and he was certain that he had never before seen this woman in his whole life.
She would get them a moment of privacy, the sergeant seemingly distracted before he left him alone with the stranger. Araton's head would slowly tilt to the side, a look of confusion on his face before he spoke. "You are not with the Ordos Sanguis. Who are you?"
“Have you forgotten me, dearest?” the unexpected visitor says with a smirk, dropping her pretense of grief. “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 visit 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.
Araton keeps that calm, unbothered look upon his face as the woman seemed to drop all pretenses once she was here. She was incredibly confident in her ability or incredibly foolish, either one was an opportunity. It appeared that he and the others were of interest for someone.
"I am not dour but if you expect us to simply escape as it is now, our chances are small and will likely end in failure." His eyes didn't blink at all, only occasionally looking towards the door but keeping his focus entirely upon the strange woman in front of him. "I assume our...friend...has given you something to aid us in our escape? That...and walking us out is not in the cards either, is it?"
"Not dour, dearest? Then the subtlety in your acting is truly magnificent." Tiadora says with a soul piercing look. "But I do not wish to take more of your short time then I already have. Although for a smart young man such as yourself taking your time must be of no inconvenience."
Tiadora hands full together while her look goes from piercing to devouring. Her posture goes from whimsical too enticing. The atmosphere of the room changes from cramped and repressive to light and comforting.
To the common man this is a clear signal to approach at one's leisure, but to everyone else it's a spider's web with a flame at its center to entice prey.
"A smart man like you must need no help in escaping this place, so what exactly what do you need assistance for? And what would you do in order to acquire it?" The deathly implications are as clear as how threatening the woman truly is.
Araton's look is not one of confidence, an unshakable bravado that this place does not hold his doom. It is one of simple acceptance and calculation; the number of guards that he had seen previously leaves him with very little chance to escape. If he somehow stole the key or killed a keyholder, he may have been able to free the others and increase his own chances of survival. Regardless, the situation looked grim and the elf was not ashamed or too proud to admit that.
"Not dour, I just accept the reality of my current circumstances. This prison is supposedly impossible to escape but is located near the shore. I unfortunately was still recovering from my daze when we entered in and missed my chance for reconnaisance, an amateur move." He would have to whip himself for such a novice mistake, letting his guard down as such. "You are correct, your visit has provided some useful intelligence of the building. Unfortunately, not as much as I wish." It was then that the woman's demeanor shifted so much, the comely maiden became the dangerous black widow.
"I am smart enough to know that escaping alone would be near impossible and, even if I did, I would have nowhere to run. The brand upon my arm marks me as a criminal. Assets and allies are needed to increase my chances; I have those back in the cell and I think that you have assets to assist me." He would rise up from his seat, leaning forward to look into those beautiful, deadly eyes. The blacks of his own eyes stare unflinchingly, much like the abyss, and his words are a soft whisper. "I would do anything, kill anyone, to ensure my survival. If I believed I could kill you, I'd throttle you where you stood...but we both know I have a better chance killing everyone in this prison than doing that, don't we?" He couldn't tell what it was but a predator knew another predator. This woman, this Tiadora, was certainly one of the most dangerous he had ever met.
Tiadora's veil eyes lightened with malicious joy for a moment as she says, “You would, and you may, now sit down please.” She waits for Araton to sit before continuing. “Now you already know what you must do, escape Branderscar.
“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 want me to give you this.” She takes off her silken veil and wipes away a few fake tears with it.
“Something to remember me by, 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 Araton a kiss on the cheek. The kiss is ice-cold and feels somehow alien and inhuman.
The sergeant shakes his head. “I’m afraid it’s time, miss.”
She looks deep in the sergeant’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,” the sergeant 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 the Araton’s one last time and she briefly gives them a wicked smile.
“Three days,” echoes in Araton’s mind. [b]“Don’t disappoint me, dearest.” The visitation concludes.
Araton Fal is taken back to the cell by a cadre of guards and shackled once more.
The elf sits down calmly in the seat, his eyes still staring without even the slightest blink as she explains the situation to him. They had a safe house somewhere in the moors by the outskirts of town, somewhere where they would not be found if they happened to escape from this devilish place. He would gently take the veil that she offered, quickly looking it over for a moment before keeping it tight within his palm.
She would rise once more and the act of her despair was both brilliant and amusing. Her lips were as cold as the grave, something unnatural and terrible, and yet it was the first time that the elf would somewhat smile. She was vicious, cold, and would kill him if it amused her and she was allowed to do so. Those qualities were strangely attractive to the hired killer, who watched her stare into the man's eyes and speak out that command. The sergeant responded like a machine, quirking the assassin's eyebrow ever so slightly.
He would do his best to show no reaction as her voice echoes inside of his mind, another layer being added to the strangeness that was Tiadora. He again offered no real resistance, being taken back to the prison cells where his fellow convicted awaited. Shackled once more to the wall, Araton would wait until he was certain that they had walked away before looking over at them all. Once more he assessed them, a few of them obviously being strong brutes who could easily kill a man given the chance. The others were more subtle with their strengths, which meant that they were just as dangerous or even more so.
"So, who doesn't want to die here and would do anything to escape?" He would wait until he heard the answers of each one of his cellmates before a dark smile spread across his face. Opening his palm lightly, the veil would be revealed and he would tell them all of his strange but revealing meeting with the woman named Tiadora.
"So with that..." He said after concluding his story of how she offered them a way out, albeit to some new master. "...we have our chance. I believe our benefactor has given us a way out with this veil. We break out, we escape, and we kill ever single person that gets in our way. Agreed?" Flickering his eyes up to the veil, he spotted the strange symbols upon it. One of them looked like some kind of lockpicks and the assassin's grin grew even wider.
Baolo having fallen into his own rather shallow musings, he snaps back to the present at hearing the cell block door clank open. Seeing the elf enter again, Baolo's toothy grin returns, "So youse had a good visit with yer lady friend? Right quick that one." Once the guards leave and the elf mentions a means of escape however, the half-orc turns completely serious. "Hell, its what I was willin' to do that got me locked up here in the first place. You sayin' that the visit with yer lady friend was more than just pleasure?"
Casius keeps his head down while tracking Araton's return with his eyes. Once the elf is chained back up and the guards leave, he hears the elf's question and fixes him with a stare. "Absolutely. Whatever we need to do, let's do it. Did the lady give you a way to free us?"
Casius listens to Araton's tale, nodding. "Agreed. We should take our chance soon. I was able to hear quite a bit as I was brought in, although I could not see. Do you need any information?"