Mikhail stands at the kitchen door, awaiting the guard's entry. The sweet taste of the last guard's blood lingers on his mouth under his sharp fangs, distracting him ever so slightly. He whispers to Kergh as they wait for the trap to be set, taking care not to speak loudly or long enough for the guardsman to hear. "When the guard comes in, I will take him by surprise. When I have him in my grip, kill him. Show no mercy to this one, except the mercy of a quick and silent death." While some would dumb their plans down for the simpleton, Mikhail does not talk down to the misshapen man. He can see the worth of such a man and finds no reason to alienate him by treating him like a fool. Hopefully the dwarf will take it that way and respond to his respect with obedience and loyalty.
Kherg lifts the spiked mace and gives a grin, looking tall and fair for once.
Holding the tin plate of pork up to your face so the guardsmen can’t see your face you watch as the guardsman heads to the battlement and exits through the ground door. Giving a friendly wave you quickly step in behind him blocking his view of your face with the plate as if you were voraciously eating. Closing the door behind you, you see a ladder that leads up another level. Wiping your greasy hands on the blue and white tabard you climb up the ladder and emerge onto the second floor of the battlement tower. Climbing a set of circular stairs you see a door that has been left open that leads to the prison ramparts. Taking the stairs two at a time you make it up just in time to watch Gerald, the guard who was standing guard at the top of the gatehouse emerge from a door on the ground floor of the western side of the gatehouse. Saying something to the guard that you just relieved they laugh before heading towards the entrance to the Great Hall.
As you watch the men walk towards the entrance to the Great Hall you scan the area around you looking for movement. From your position on the north-east rampart you can make out light coming from the top of the warden’s tower near the southern edge of the prison. You also see the flickering light of a bullseye lantern sweeping along the edge of the western rampart carried by a guard who walks slowly north to south. Also from the arrow slits of the gatehouse you see bright shining light coming from a room on the eastern ground floor.
Recalling the guards speaking about Warden Richter having an owl, you feel a shiver run down your spine. Stepping outside of the privy you close the door and wait for the guardsman to finish up. After several minutes you hear some clinking of metal before the door is opened again and the guardsman walks out of the privy. Smellss good. he slurs smacking his lips and heading towards the kitchen door. Waiting a few moments, you quietly follow behind him towards the kitchen your movements sure and natural.
A charming offer, but no. Ariana haughtily retorts to Mikhail’s suggestion of continued teamwork after they finish escaping Branderscar. I will go my way and you may go yours. Now, lets be quick about this. The sooner we are out of this place the better.
No sooner does Ariana finish rejecting Mikhail’s offer then the sounds of a man approaching the kitchen can be heard. Walking into the kitchen a guardsman smacks his lips. Smellss great Irena.. he begins before trailing off at the sight of the half-eaten pig and the pool of blood on the ground.
Standing at the far edge of the Great Hall entrance Ethaniel does his best to get into position despite his wounds. Shuffling out of the hallway Grumblejack moves into the mess hall putting his sizable mass behind the door, though it does little to hide his massive frame should anyone step inside. A few minutes later you hear the sounds of two guards joking. One is wrapped in a blue fur lined cloak that bears the symbol of Branderscar on its back while the other wears the standard accruements of a Branderscar guard.. including a signal horn.
Kaynen stands proudly atop the ramparts, arms at his sides, chest puffed out, his greasy tabard fluttering in the chill breeze.
Inhaling, he congratulates himself of finally putting enough distance between himself and the ogre that the smell has finally cleared from his sensitive half-elven nostrils.
Taking several pronounced steps, Kaynen continues his impression of a king-of-a-mountain, a peacock-on-a-hill as the two carousing guards disappear into the main hall's interior.
Likely two others, at least. One on that western rampart. One in the room below . How lucky can one man be in one evening with these continued ruses?
Turning about, Kaynen looks longingly northward at the span that crosses the cold, dark waters to freedom and exhales.
So close.
Returning his view southward, his eyes narrow as he considers the warden's tall tower.
How safe must you feel up there, my good warden. Maybe a dozen guards in Branderscar for seven prisoners. Such a risk you've taken...
Whistling to himself, Kaynen tries to decide the best approach to the next guard stationed on the western wall.
Kherg waits for that split second before the vampirekin strikes.
Kherg prepares to brain the guard that Mikhail grabs. Whether or not he succeeds, he was told. The strong dwarf has his shield ready and swings a high blow, the savage mace with its sharp flanges seems suited for purpose. Then he prepares to hit again.
Mikhail seizes the slow-to-react guard as he enters. A spray of blood from Kergh's brutal smash hits his face, causing him to squeeze even tighter. "Again! Kill him!" Mikhail hisses out the command to Kergh, holding their victim tightly. He struggles in his arms, slowly realizing the trap he has walked into. Hopefully either Kergh or Ariana will finish the guard off before he can truly react.
As soon as the two guards enter the main hall and are within range, Ethaniel extends his left arm towards the one with the horn. There is a bit of wool between his fingers and, as he snaps them, it vanishes, a tiny distortion in the air around it accompanying its disappearance. As soon as that happens, the same distortion appears in front of the other man's eyes, which look vacant, but only for a brief moment as the guard manages to withstand the simple spell.
"Quickly! The one with the horn!" The urgency behind his words, especially considering his cantrip's failure, is easily apparent.
So much for the best laid plans..
Barnabas moves to prevent the guard from leaving kiitchen.
As the two guards stroll through the main doors and Ethaniel calls out the danger of the one with the horn, Oswald lurches to motion from his position against the wall talking to himself. He stumbles close to the guard with the horn, gurgling out, "All is lost. They took them all. Dead, dead, dead." He tries to make himself appear small and non-threatening before lashing out to attempt to wrap his fingers around the horn and rip it free while he dances back out of range of their weapons.
Mikhail seizes the slow-to-react guard as he enters. A spray of blood from Kergh's brutal smash hits his face, causing him to squeeze even tighter. "Again! Kill him!" Mikhail hisses out the command to Kergh, holding their victim tightly. He struggles in his arms, slowly realizing the trap he has walked into. Hopefully either Kergh or Ariana will finish the guard off before he can truly react.
Kherg prepares to brain the guard that Mikhail grabs. Whether or not he succeeds, he was told. The strong dwarf has his shield ready and swings a high blow; the savage mace with its sharp flanges seems suited for purpose. Then he prepares to hit again.
Smiling cruelly from behind her scarlet red lips Ariana splays her fingers out. In a single instant her perfect nails become razor-sharp talons. Swinging her hand forward it drags along chainmail, gouging rings but not breaking though the fire-hardened steel.
Cursing under his breath Barnabas moves up to the door way to prevent the guard from leaving kitchen. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen... The cunning rogue thinks to himself.
As soon as the two guards enter the main hall and are within range, Ethaniel extends his left arm towards the one with the horn. There is a bit of wool between his fingers and, as he snaps them, it vanishes, a tiny distortion in the air around it accompanying its disappearance. As soon as that happens, the same distortion appears in front of the other man's eyes, which look vacant, but only for a brief moment as the guard manages to withstand the simple spell.
"Quickly! The one with the horn!" The urgency behind his words, especially considering his cantrip's failure, is easily apparent.
As the two guards stroll through the main doors and Ethaniel calls out the danger of the one with the horn, Oswald lurches to motion from his position against the wall talking to himself. He stumbles close to the guard with the horn, gurgling out, "All is lost. They took them all. Dead, dead, dead." He tries to make himself appear small and non-threatening before he prepairs to lash and attempt to wrap his fingers around the horn and rip it free.
Barreling though the doorway leading into the Great Hall entrance, Grumblejack the orge drags his greatswrord behind him, letting it scrape against the weathered stone of the Great Hall. Steel on stone the orge pushes his massive frame through the doorway towards the guards. Surprise! the orge wheezes, grinning despite his grievous wounds.
Mikhail Halancoun: (6)
Ethaniel Tessarin: (11)
Barnabas Wright: (21)
Kergh the Dwarf: (20)
Ariana Ddraig: (7)
Oswald Turrill: (18)
Kaynen Catesby: (4)
Grumblejack: (11)
Main Hall Entrance Guards: (9)
Kitchen Entrance Guard: (17)
Another little piece of wool, another attempt. Only this time Ethaniel does not even manage to cast the spell, his wound and the prison's ward against magic proving too much for even his considerable concentration to overcome. Still, the magus maintains his composure, his clenched teeth the only indication of both his break in focus, as well as his disappointment at this second failure of his.
Round 1
Finding no easily discernible method to step onto the ramparts of the exterior walls, Kaynen begins descending the steps back to the courtyard. Once hidden within the interior of the gatehouse, he begins taking the steps two-at-a-time, with a little bit of a sense of urgency.
My concern is likely unfounded - the Forsaken have surely beheaded both guards by now.
Regardless, the half-elf moves quickly, fingering the bits of cloth he tore from his old prison garb.
Seeing that Kergh and Mikhail have the kitchen situation under control. Barnabas stays outside and hustles around the side of the building towards the main entrance.
Kergh nods and spits on the face of the man, as he swings a full-blooded blow into the guard's nose with a sickening crunch and sprayed life. Then he lopes fast over to help Grumblejack.
HP 12/30; AC 13/18/13; CMB +6 CMD 15
F+6/R+0/W+3
Sweeping his greatsword in front of him Grumblejack bellows out a challenege at the two guards inside of the hallway. Rushing towards them full tilt the guards fumble for their swords. Barreling towards them Grumblejack throws his shoulder into one slamming it into the wall with a loud *thud* and collideds with the other sending him tumbling to the ground. Forcing his way past the pair of men Grumblejack puts his massive frame between them and the exit to the Great Hall. Har.. Har.. Har.. The orge bellows Wer u going now little un’s? He asks mockingly.
Oh Holy Mitra, the prisoners are free and they let loose the orge! Brant make a run for it.. you gotta tell the warden! Gerald the guardsman cries out as he tries to crawl away and get up. As Gerald pushes himself to his feet Grumblejack bellows at the man. Grumblejack told you to While swinging at the guardsman with the reclaimed greatsword. Cleaving into the guard in a spray of blood the Gerald cries out in pain, wavering on his feet but still managing a moment later to draw his longsword. Wiping the blood out of his eyes Gerald yells at Brant. Go! Get outta here!
Dumbstruck at the sudden turn of events Brant watches as his friend is nearly cut down by the hulking six hundred and fifty pound, nine foot talk orge. Hearing his fellow guardsman yell for him to run Brant does what any man would do. He runs as fast as his legs will take him.
Gotta tell the others.. can’t let the forsaken escape. Brant wispers to himself as he runs through the mess hall with its pools of blood and wrecked door and into the kitchen. Rusing through the doorway Brant skids to a halt at the sight of Mikhail fangs barred holding a guardsman by his throat while the misshapen brute Kergh holds a demonic looking mace dripping with blood and Ariana with her long wicked claws.
Mikhail Halancoun: (6)
Ethaniel Tessarin: (11)
Barnabas Wright: (21)
Kergh the Dwarf: (20)
Ariana Ddraig: (7)
Oswald Turrill: (18)
Kaynen Catesby: (4)
Grumblejack: (11)
Main Hall Entrance Guards: (9)
Round 2
Kaynen continues to swiftly descend through the gatehouse's interior as he continues whistling the catchy tune to himself, The Dress That Sally Wore Last Starday...
He keeps his eyes open for an easy path onto the western wall whereupon he plans to inform yet another guard of how wonderfully tasty the roast boar is this evening.
Mikhail wants to sink his sharp fangs into the guard's neck thanks to the spray of blood hitting his face. Almost intoxicated with his desire for blood, he summons the willpower to drop him to the ground and deal with the guard trying to escape. As the guard hits the floor with a limp thud, Mikhail calmly strides towards the newcomer while drawing his sword. He considers picking his shield back up, but the look of fear in the guard's eyes lets him know that the combat will be a short one. He thrusts forward with the longsword, using the strength of both his arms to drive it straight through the guardsman's armor. He rips it out of the man's stomach with power and decisiveness, flashing his fangs at his still-living victim.
Seeing that Kergh and Mikhail have the kitchen situation under control. Barnabas stays outside and hustles around the side of the building towards the main entrance. Staying to the shadows the slight man moves around to the front of the entrance. As he does so he makes out in the distance the flickering light of a lone guard walking along the western rampart, oblivious to the combat within the Great Hall.
Nodding at Mikhail’s command Kergh spits on the face of the guard, swinging a full-blooded blow into the guard's nose with a sickening crunch and sprayed lifeblood. Then, hearing the sounds of combat at within the entrance of the Great Hall, the brute lopes his way towards the hall eager to help Grumblejack.
Dumbstruck at the sudden turn of events Brant watches as his friend is nearly cut down by the hulking six hundred and fifty pound, nine foot talk orge. Hearing his fellow guardsman yell for him to run Brant does what any man would do. He runs as fast as his legs will take him.
Gotta tell the others.. can’t let the forsaken escape. Brant whispers to himself as he runs through the mess hall with its pools of blood and wrecked door and into the kitchen. Rushing through the doorway Brant skids to a halt at the sight of Mikhail fangs barred holding a guardsman by his throat while the misshapen brute Kergh holds a demonic looking mace dripping with blood and Ariana with her long wicked claws.
Mikhail wants to sink his sharp fangs into the guard's neck thanks to the spray of blood hitting his face. Almost intoxicated with his desire for blood, he summons the willpower to drop him to the ground and deal with the guard trying to escape. As the guard hits the floor with a limp thud, Mikhail calmly strides towards the newcomer while drawing his sword. He considers picking his shield back up, but the look of fear in the guard's eyes lets him know that the combat will be a short one. He thrusts forward with the longsword, using the strength of both his arms to drive it straight through the guardsman's armor. He rips it out of the man's stomach with power and decisiveness, flashing his fangs at his still-living victim.
Eyes glittering like rubies from the light of kitchen hearth, Ariana smiled proud and arrogant. Claws were not the only gift granted to her by her eldritch heritage… pride, greed and hate… those were gifts as well. All were useful, but none so much as her talons at that moment. Seeing the opening left by the terribly wounded guard thanks to Mikhail’s sword, Ariana dashed forward sweeping both of her claws downward, left to right and right to left in an X motion. Tearing though bone, muscle and armor the talons ripped deep into the already wounded man. Eyes fluttering in pain, Brant took one more step forward whispering. Gotta tell the others.. before falling to the ground, surrounded in a halo of blood.
Wrapping his fingers around the horn, the crazed doctor rips it free from guardsman, his strength born from insanity. Dancing back out of range of their weapons, Oswald cackles madly hopping from leg to leg and shaking the horn from a distance, taunting the men.
Another little piece of wool, another attempt. Only this time Ethaniel does not even manage to cast the spell, his wound and the prison's ward against magic proving too much for even his considerable concentration to overcome. Still, the magus maintains his composure, his clenched teeth the only indication of both his break in focus, as well as his disappointment at this second failure of his.
Preparing to rush forward and take back the horn, the guards stumble backwards as Grumblejack bursts into the hallway. Sweeping his greatsword in front of him Grumblejack bellows out a challenge at the two guards inside of the hallway. Rushing towards them full tilt the guards fumble for their swords. Barreling towards them, Grumblejack throws his shoulder into one slamming it into the wall with a loud *thud* and collides with the other sending him tumbling to the ground. Forcing his way past the pair of men Grumblejack puts his massive frame between them and the exit to the Great Hall. Har.. Har.. Har.. The orge bellows Wer u going now little un’s? He asks mockingly.
Oh Holy Mitra, the prisoners are free and they let loose the orge! Brant make a run for it.. you gotta tell the warden! Gerald the guardsman cries out as he tries to crawl away and get up. As Gerald pushes himself to his feet Grumblejack bellows at the man. Grumblejack told you to While swinging at the guardsman with the reclaimed greatsword. Cleaving into the guard in a spray of blood the Gerald cries out in pain, wavering on his feet but still managing a moment later to draw his longsword. Wiping the blood out of his eyes Gerald yells at Brant. Go! Get outta here!
Mikhail Halancoun: (6)
Ethaniel Tessarin: (11)
Barnabas Wright: (21)
Kergh the Dwarf: (20)
Ariana Ddraig: (7)
Oswald Turrill: (18)
Kaynen Catesby: (4)
Grumblejack: (11)
Gerald: (9)
Oswald cackles to himself, waving the horn around before lifting aloft his club in his other hand and stalking closer to Gerald, the guard. "The sword or the club, which choice does the defiler choose? Cut in twain with blood pooling below or brains mashed into porridge spilling out the ears? What is your choice, Mitran?!" The mad doctor darts in, swinging a testing blow at the guardsman which is easily ducked out of the way.
Kergh aims another blow but this time from behind the guard Gerald. He swings the sickening mace so hard that the flanges flute and hum during the backswing before barrelling upwards at the man's inner thigh.
The mace wedges in the man's muscle and bone then the dwarf manages to wrench it free, and the femoral artery gushes out across the floor in seconds.
Opting against trying to use his magic again, Ethaniel takes advantage of both the guard's newly inflicted wound, as well as the fact that the man's attention seems to be on the ogre. The magus moves quickly, trading caution for speed, and manages to bury his knife in the guard's back, bringing him even closer to his end but not quite there as the chain links manage to turn a killing blow into merely a wounding one.
Kergh aims another blow but this time from behind the guard Gerald. He swings the sickening mace so hard that the flanges flute and hum during the backswing before barreling upwards at the man's inner thigh. With a sickening CRACK The mace wedges in the man's muscle and bone then the dwarf manages to wrench it free, and the femoral artery gushes out across the floor in seconds.
Opting against trying to use his magic again, Ethaniel takes advantage of both the guard's newly inflicted wound by Kergh and Grumblejack, as well as the fact that the man's attention seems to be on the ogre. The magus moves quickly, trading caution for speed, and manages to bury his knife in the guard's back seconds after Kergh drives his mace into the mans thigh, bringing an end to the man’s foolish heroics.
As Kaynen retraces his steps back to the courtyard, he gives the western towers a long, curious glance while whistling the final verse of The Dress That Sally Wore.
"Hmmm..."
Deciding that it's best to ensure that the melee within the great hall has concluded, he works his way to check on the other Forsaken and see if they are prepared to face additional hungry prison guards.
"My. It looks like you've all worked up appetites. There are yet more guards on the western wall, and possibly the barracks near the gatehouse. Shall they be encouraged to sample Irena's roasted boar this evening as well?"
Barnabas continues around side of the main building and seeing Kaynen heading across the courtyard, falls in with him and enters the front door, closing it softly behind him. He sighs with relief when he sees that everything is under control in the front entryway.
"Let's see if we can clear the guards off the western wall first. With them gone we'll have a bit more freedom to move around. One thing though, I did notice an owl watching the courtyard from a window in the warden's tower. It seemed a bit unusual to me, but I'm not sure if it means anything."
Oswald kicks the dead Gerald in the ribs before spitting on the cooling body. The mad doctor's gaze slides over to Grumblejack, Kergh and Ethaniel as he motions at the dead guard with his club, "The vile worm is sleeping on the job so we should show him to his bed. When this tomb burns like a bonfire, it'll look like they died still in bed, victims of Mitra's cruel obsession with fire and purity. Then we must find the tower. My dear Rosaline cries out from her prison."
Oswald mutters under his breath as he picks up the legs of Gerald and tucks them under his arms before starting to drag the man toward the emptied barracks, leaving a nice blood smear across the ground as he goes. "Who tortures a sweet innocent child, I ask you? Whom but the blackest hearted fiend in this whole god-cursed land. Vengeance upon vengeance shall be heaped at their door until their world chokes upon its own bile."
Kergh goes to help Oswald, throwing the limp body up onto a bed. "Why they have your girl? She do something bad?" He frowns in his still average looks at the strange father.
Ethaniel looks at the fallen guard impassively. 'Kill or be killed, focus on that,' the magus thinks to himself. Without turning to look at him, he then addresses Oswald, keeping his previous thoughts to himself.
"How certain are you of this? Branderscar hardly seems the place one might find a child..."
Oswald grunts as he tugs the body through the doorway toward the barracks, struggling with an arm that doesn't want to co-operate on going through the arch, "They have her because they wish to see me suffer, as they wish to see us all suffer, the vile dogs. She is a sweet innocent child and has done nothing wrong to earn such treatment. Even now, I hear her voice as if calling through thick stone walls. She is close but trapped in some horrible place. She says it is a tower. We must find the tower, yes, find it we shall." With Kergh's help, he is finally able to throw the body up on a bed as he wipes his hands off on his tunic.
Kaynen, realizing that only he and Barnabas have really had the opportunity to size up Branderscar's interior, chimes in to confirm at least the possibility of Oswald's babblings.
"Oh, we will be seeing the warden shortly. No doubt the light indicates that he's still awake and would welcome a visit."
Probably just not from The Forsaken.
Smiling at the thought of the fool in his nightclothes reading a book by candlelight as Grumblejack lumbers in to give him a giant-sized hug, Kaynen sighs wistfully.
"There are still guards on the western wall and towers we must attend to first. Perhaps we should pay them a visit together this time, Barnabas? Share our tricks and such?"
Blowing into his hands, Kaynen takes every opportunity to relish his role once again as Branderscar Guard #1.
He pats his longsword at his side, shifts the longbow on his back and adopts a more rigid walk that he's come to associate with the fictional guard he has become in his mind, one Samuel Beretti, a son of a jeweler from somewhere in distant River Kingdoms.
As he and Barnabas catch the next guard's attention, Kaynen pats his stomach and forces a burp, given that ol' Sam never had the best tableside manners.
"Mmm. Sorry 'bout that. Pig's durned good, I says. The boys say it's your turn fer a taste..."
"Once we deal with the guards on the wall, we can see about the tower and your daughter, Oswald. Clear the corpses and get ready for trouble. If things go south we may need you in a hurry."
Barnabas follows Kaynen to the western wall guards, looking up at the warden's tower to see if the owl is still perched in the window.
"Ya go get some grub, we've got you covered."
Disguised in uniforms taken from the men who once guarded their cell, Barnabas and Kaynen exit out of the front door of the Great Hall. Leaving the confines of the stone and wood edifice they step out into the main courtyard. Ahead of the pair of escapees is the Gate House, a full thirty feet high and built into the stone walls of prison Branderscar. Though the arrow slits on the on ground floor of the east side of the Gate House the flickering of light of candles and the occasional laugh is heard. Feeling the wind whip about them blowing through the courtyard Kaynens eyes are drawn to a marble statue in the inner courtyard of a tall imposing man who holds a set of scales in one hand and a sword in the other. Having both grown up within Ghastenhall the visage of the statue is immediately obvious to the pair of forsaken; King Markadian of House Darius, The keeper of the flame of Mitra and protector of the righteous. Engraved into the base of the statue are the words Let justice be given to all, swift and sure under the ever watchful gaze of Mitra.
Snorting at the pugnacious rubbish Kaynen and Barnabas continue on towards the western wall, skirting past the stone barracks inset into the northwest wall. Approaching ramparts from the ground Kaynen steps forward first raising a hand to guard on watch. Firmly inset into his identity as Samuel Beretti, the son of a jeweler from somewhere in distant River Kingdoms. As Kaynen and Barnabas catch the guard's attention, Samuel pats his stomach and forces a burp, given that ol' Sam never had the best tableside manners. "Mmm. Sorry 'bout that. Pig's durned good, I says. The boys say it's your turn fer a taste..." Samuel states with the blunt manner one would expect from a River Kingdoms commoner.
Stepping up beside Kayene, Barnabas unfortunately did a much more poor impression of a guardsman slouching, and fumbling around with his plate. Drawing attention to himself, Barnabas nodded raising his plate in suggestion. “Ya go get some grub, we've got you covered..."
Thirty feet above them Tarker was tired. Nights on the wall were long and most of the men turned to drinking. It didn’t help the Blackerly kept the prices low to earn favor with them. Shaking his head in disgust at what a poor state Branderscar had become Tarker continued to trudge along the wall, one step after another feeling the biting cold through his cloak. Just a few more hours before its shift relief. The grizzled guardsman thought sighing to himself. Ever since Sergeant Blackerly had come in and replaced the captain, he had watched the other guards slowly be rotated out back to the Watchwall Keeps on the border, places like Aldencross or Tyberhold. There were a few good men left not in the pocket of Blackerly, but the majority.. the majority had turned to drinking and gambling. Those that didn’t quickly got assigned to the wall night after night. Eventually they just gave up and asked to be transferred. And so Tarker continued his slow walk along the wall. As the two men approached him, Tarker shined his bullseye lantern down towards the two approaching guards. They were carrying food and one seemed to have the easy gate of a guardsmen but the other.. the other didn’t. Shining his lantern towards them men, Tarker peered out into the darkened courtyard. "Who goes there.." he began, shining a light onto the faces of the men before stopping in midsentence as he felt his blood run cold. It was the Forsaken.. the Forsaken were free!
Barnabas disguise vs DC12 *Spotted*:
Kaynen disguise vs DC12:
Sense Motive (need nat 20):
Random Encounter (need 90-100):
Tarker:
Kaynen:
Barnabas:
Acting as a perfect counterpoint Samuel's eyes narrowed as Tarker's widened.
The half-elf knew he needed to act quickly, and so he did.
"Oh! It's your shift Tarker! Come on down and meet ... Elmo."
Reaching for the horn at his side, everything started to go fuzzy for Tarker. The grizzled guard, one of the few who had remained true throughout all of the corruption within Branderscar felt something odd, like a far away voice screaming at him from the depths of his mind. If he thought hard enough about the feeling, it felt like he was forgetting something, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Whatever it was it didn’t matter anymore. His friend Samuel was here along with Elmo and he was hungry. Shrugging his shoulders, the tired old guard made his way toward the battlement tower. Slowly walking down the circular steps to the second floor, Tarker climbed down the inset ladder and exited through the heavy wooden door on the western side of the courtyard.
Entering into the courtyard, Tarker raised one hand in friendly wave to his friend Samuel. Dinner smells good tonight. Tarker muttered, rubbing his hands together to ward off some of the cold. Your a little early though. Dinner relief shouldn’t be for another hour or so, right?
Kaynen nods back to the guard, realizing that his charms have taken hold in the guard's mind.
"The pig's extra good tonight. All the boys, especially Gerald, have been taking extra helpings. I'm just looking out for you all."
As Kaynen moves to take Tarker's spot, he turns back to him.
"Oh, would you mind getting the others from the barracks? They should probably eat while it's hot before their shifts start."
Kaynen manages a wink and a not to Barnabas as he nods towards the northwest barracks in the courtyard.
As if Asmodeus himself were whispering insight into Kaynen's half-elven ears, he stops himself.
"You know, that's a fine blade. Would you mind?"
Stepping to the man's side, Kaynen gives a nod to Barnabas.
My sword and sounding horn? Tarker asks, looking down at the slightly curved quillon and guard jutting out of the scabbard and sounding slightly confused. Well sure, whatever you need. Taking horn off of its sling, Tarker hands the brass horn over to his friend Samuel before drawing out his blade in one clean motion. Nice huh? It’s one of the older ones they used to issue when Captain Callidan was here. None of that junk the sergeant brings in now a day’s. Letting go of the sword, Tarker looks at Samuel and for the briefest of seconds there is a voice yelling in the back of his mind screaming to run away, before Kaynens’ overpowering enchantment snuffs it out. Say, why did you need my sword anyhow? Looks like you got a perfectly fine one right there.
Kherg shivers at the words of Oswald. His frown turns into a cold face of determination. "I will help you by the word of the Dark Prince. No child should be trapped against her will. She needs her family. They are evil to do this. Evil and cruel."
The priest eventually resumes his position and waits for more guards to come in. He spends the spare time flicking bits of gore off the flanged mace.
”I never want to see you playing in that room ever again!"
Shaking at the memory of her adopted father’s voice, Drisella drew her knees up to her chest in the darkness of the oubliette. It was cold and damp here and smelled of seawater and mildew. Though her eyes had long ago adjusted to the gloom, all she could make out was the pinprick points of faint light streaming down from the hole in the roof of her he cell twenty feet above her. The walls were smooth and flat and vaguely in the distance she thought she could make out the sound of waves crashing against stone. Everything here was cold and she was all alone. Shaking her head, Drisella felt the memories coming back, stronger than before. No.. no.. no The young woman of sixteen winters muttered, clutching at her head and tangled hair, trying to forget the horrible beatings, the curses, the screams the death of her adopted mother and her father resentment and blame. And worst of all, she tried to forget the barbed and chained creature who had resembled her mother emerging from the box.
Drip… drip… drip…
Another rivulet of water fell from the stone, running down the wall and dripping onto Drisella’s soaked rags causing another shiver to run along her spine. Feeling the cold stone against her back she thought back to her arrival at the prison. She remembered the horrified expression on the marshal’s face when he found the after effects of the creature’s visitation. She also remembered the taste as she bit off his index finger when he tried to put his hands on here. Hot… salty… there was a power that came from the blood. She couldn’t describe it, but after her first, forced bite she had known the truth of it. After she was handed over to the sanctimonious witchhunter Sir Balin, she was locked away again. This time in an iron reinforced carriage and sent with an escort of Knights Alerion to Branderscar Prison in preparation for her execution for the crime consorting with dark powers. Humiliated and alone Drisella watched as her clothes were burned in front her and she was given a handful of prison rags in their place. Like every prisoner to arrive in Branderscar she was held down by two large men while the sergeant of the guard branded a crimson F for ”Forsaken onto her arm. Hissing and screeching, snapping with her teeth, Drisellla struggled to no avail. Laughing under his breath about a ”live one” the fat sergeant clubbed her into submission.
Drip… drip… drip…
When she awoke again, she was in a communal cell with three other prisoners and she could feel their gazes upon her. Hardened criminals all, the two ragged looking men and a single brute of a half-orc watched the sixteen year old girl, sizing her up the way a group of alley cats might look at a lost mouse. It wasn’t long before the first made his move. The man next to her, his eyes cold and hard with greasy long hair put a hand on Drisella’s knee. Don’t touch me. Drisella half whispered, feeling an internal cringe and remembering Sarlucius’s punishments.
Running one dirty hand through his lank hair the hard eyed man leaned in forward. Hey now.. no need da’ be rude lassie. We could be friends. He muttered, his hand sliding up her leg slightly.
I told you not to touch me! Drisella hissed, lunging forward against her chains towards the man’s face. Bringing her teeth together in a meaty Snap! Drisella shook her head as the man screamed and wailed. Savaging the man’s face with her pearly white teeth, the guards arrived to a horrific sight. Drisella DiAmonicia, smiling at the other prisoners had blood running down her chin and was staring with fierce dark eyes at the ruined visage Tain Labuan who had his nose bit off and was screaming and crying. Revolted, the guards rushed into the cell, drawing their clubs. Swinging the leather wrapped cudgels they beat Dirsella until she was unconscious once more.
Drip… drip… drip…
When she woke up she was all alone in the darkened, damp oubliette. She could still taste the blood on her lips and ached from a hundred different bruises. That had been weeks ago. And since them the days had started to run together. The ever present sound of water had been there from the start, but as the days turned into weeks she started to sense something else… a presence… a dark will.
"In darkness, you will find us."
Raising her head sharply she looked all around the tiny circular room. She watched as the shadows seemed to move; to gather and coalesce just out of the corner of his vision. Eyes wide in the darkness she felt a presence that was not there a moment ago. Suddenly the rivulets of water stopped flowing as if time had stood still.
Drip.............................. Drip..........................
Feeling her heart pounding, Drisella watched as the shadows swirled tighter and tighter around her, causing her rags and hair to be caught up in the shadowy aether breeze. Then, as suddenly as it had all started the shadows and wind stilled as if sucking into itself. Then from behind her came the voice like silk over barbed wire. Soft on the surface with a hard undertone of harsh, sharp vowels.
Hello little one. You have called and I have answered.
Check With a successful Climb check, you can advance up, down, or across a slope, wall, or other steep incline (or even across a ceiling, provided it has handholds) at one-quarter your normal speed. A slope is considered to be any incline at an angle measuring less than 60 degrees; a wall is any incline at an angle measuring 60 degrees or more.
A Climb check that fails by 4 or less means that you make no progress, and one that fails by 5 or more means that you fall from whatever height you have already attained.
A creature with a climb speed has a +8 racial bonus on all Climb checks. The creature must make a Climb check to climb any wall or slope with a DC higher than 0, but it can always choose to take 10, even if rushed or threatened while climbing. If a creature with a climb speed chooses an accelerated climb (see above), it moves at double its climb speed (or at its land speed, whichever is slower) and makes a single Climb check at a –5 penalty. Such a creature retains its Dexterity bonus to Armor Class (if any) while climbing, and opponents get no special bonus to their attacks against it. It cannot, however, use the run action while climbing.
Mikhail waits for the next prey to enter the deadly web of the escaped prisoners. The smell of the spray of hot blood lingers in the air, making it difficult for him to think clearly. While Mikhail long ago came to terms with his vampiric heritage, he rarely considered it a large part of his identity; his humanity was of little importance to him as well. For many years, he moved identity to identity, adopting accents and disguises and false histories - but he always knew himself as Mikhail Charthagnion, first born son of Baroness Marthanya Charthagnion and the true heir to the throne of Talingarde. Even as he adopted his longest-lasting - and final, he hoped - alias of Mikhail Halancoun, he never thought of himself as anything other than a nobleman. It is disconcerting for him, then, to so strongly feel drawn to the blood spilled around him. He is no mere vampire nor a slave to his urges. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, driving the bloodlust from his mind.
When his eyes are open and his mind is clear, he begins making longer-term considerations. Thus far, he has successfully gained some measure of loyalty from the rest of the prisoners - all except the clawed sorceress. With Ariana insisting that she will make her own way when they free themselves, Mikhail knows that she may be a liability. If she were caught, she could endanger their future plans. Sir Balin would likely not even have to torture her - with no loyalty to them, she would likely use them as leverage as quickly as she could. Mikhail, then, will have to ensure the safety of the group by eliminating Ariana. At this very moment, though, she may still have use - and killing her here and now is an unnecessary risk that could cause the others, especially Ethaniel, to object.
He eyes Kergh, finding the strange mutated man to be most useful - if a little dull of mind. When the time comes to eliminate Ariana as a loose end, Kergh's loyalty and single-mindedness will be most useful. Perhaps Barnabas will be useful as well, as he might be able to convince him of the rational argument that she is a liability that must be purged from the ledger.
"You know, your sword is so much sharper than mine. I think we might need to visit the main barracks and I can see about getting a whetstone before we take our shift."
Accompanying Tarker to the kitchen door, because that's clearly [b]"the best way to Irena's pig", Kaynen continues to examine the guard's horn as he reaches the side door.
As the man grabs the handle, the half-elf steps to his side, gives Barnabas a nod, and strikes.
_________________
For all her rage, Drisella stilled at the sound of a voice at her back. Muscles twitch under damp rags, and Drisella's twitching motions ever so slowly turn her head towards what she perceives as the voice's source. Jaw trembling, she breathes out what should be words, but instead finds only a hoarse whisper. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.
Claws click against stone, a rattling noise like metal cables in a steel tube accompany the unusual sound of breathing, and Drisella can see something moving in the darkness, even if just the reflection of light off of something wet and black. A large mass brushes against her side, leathery and slick, then lashes behind the creature as it makes a full circuit around the girl.
"," thrums in the darkness.
"I know," Drisella barely manages to whisper in response to the voice, unaware that it is speaking in a tongue she does not recall ever learning. Her eyes flick from side to side, head stilled in fear. "I-- I'm-- " Then her eyes wrench shut, words fail, and she draws her arms around herself and legs to her chest. Brow resting on her damp knees, the young girl trembles visibly.
Something is asked of her, something simple. But words alone do not suffice, and when Drisella feels something press against the crown of her head and exhale a hot breath into her hair, that chill down her spine turns to needles of ice. She jerks back, head up and eyes open. Only from the faint light spilling through the opening at the top of her cell can she make out a vague shape. Rounded, slick and black, glistening teeth set in a lipless maw. Is sinks back into the darkness, claws scaping across stone, a rattling noise like a growl accompanying the movement.
"Get me out of here," Drisella rasps into the darkness, and without a moment's hesitation. The creature moves as commanded, though Drisella cannot see what it does. She can hear the claws scrape across the walls, grinding on stone and sliding back. The young woman rises to her feet and pads across the floor, moving to the wall where she thought the creature was, only to find bare wall. The girl's hands smooth alone the wall, feeling for loose bricks or notches where her fingers could fit.
Growing frustrated and unable to so much as pull herself a foot off of the ground, her eyes narrow and she looks up to the hole in the ceiling. For a brief moment, Drisella feels a wave of nausea and anxiety wash over her as the full weight of the creature slams down onto the floor after testing the walls.
"," thrumms again in the darkness, reiterated.
"I know," Drisella hisses in response, sharper in tone this time. Her tiny hands ball into fists at her side and she strains to determine the best course of action. As the moments tick forward, Drisella realizes that she's unconsciously growing more comfortable with whatever it is that emerged from the shadows, as if rediscovering a limb she had forgotten about. She flexes, it moves. She directs, it follows. There is something intuitive and simple about it, but all the while something horrifying.
Worry is pushed back into a part of her mind where a child's happiness once dwelled. It can stay locked there, she has no use for fear right now. "Get me out of here!" Drisella screams this time, her shrill voice ringing through the oubliette. On command again, the creature springs to movement and strikes the walls with clawed feet. Again, the creature's talons scrape stone only momentarily before it bounces off of the wall and lands on its feet.
When it lands this time, it falls briefly into view of the light. Here, Drisella sees a brief glimpse of metal cabling sliding beneath parted muscle and sheathed scales of ebon steel glossy with tar-like covering. A line of saliva rolls from its lipless jaws onto the floor as it stalks out of sight with a feline gait.
"I said get me out of here!" Drisella screams in frustration and without consideration of the guards above. At the shout, the creature in shadows slinks out of sight and grows quiet.
____
"We must leave."
"We must leave."
Following Samuel and Elmo around the back of the Great Hall, the three guards pass by Warden Richter’s Tower before heading around the garden and toward the kitchen. As Elmo slips behind Tarker to take up a position at his back, he looks over the enspelled guards shoulder towards the window at the top of the tower, open and spilling light out into the courtyard below. Knowing where to look, Elmo is able to spot the owl in its same place as before roosting in a crook of the window, perhaps looking for mice with the intent of a midnight snack.
Trudging onward towards the kitchen and the wonderful smell of roasted pig, the howling wind whips through the stone and grass courtyard. Shivering in their disguises the pair of forsaken feel the plip-plop of raindrops falling from the darken clouds above. Pulling their cloaks tighter against the wind and rain guardsmen continue their march into the kitchen.
Reaching the doorway to the kitchen Tarker grabs for the door handle. As the weathered guardsman pulls open the door, its light spilling out in to the windy and drizzling courtyard, Kaynen takes a quick half-step back reveling in the theatric betrayal. Holding Tarkers sword lightly in one hand, Kaynen drives in towards the unprotected back of the guard, but the light spilling from the doorway blinds him momentarily. As the blade comes diving in towards Tarker the enchantment that had held his mind locked in a vice slips away like smoke in the wind. Oh holy Mitra! Tarker prays, realizing that he had been under the hold of a Forsaken and shivering in fear. Please lord protect me!
It looks like someone is moving at the top of the Wardens Tower. You’re unable to make out much from the distance, but you can see breaks in the constantly streaming light. Looking up, you watch as a tall figure shoos the owl away from the window sill before closing the window against the wind. Lazily the owl dives into the wind, soaring out around the courtyard before landing on the roof of the wardens tower were it proceeds to preen itself.
Strong Wind: Gusts that automatically extinguish unprotected flames (candles, torches, and the like). Such gusts impose a –2 penalty on ranged attack rolls and on Perception checks.
Momentarily distracted by movement near the tower, Kaynen's heart races as he wonders if the warden has spotted their ambush of Tarker. Forcing his mind to be clear, he returns his focus to the charmed guard that he is now literally "stabbing in the back".
Round 1 vs Tarker
for
Watching his blade cut into his "friend", Kaynen considers feeling the slightest bit of remorse, but shakes it off when he remembers he is still a Forsaken imprisoned at Branderscar, and the blood of many will spill to remold the land in a better image.
Mikhail hears the door to the kitchen open with a gust of wind. Faintly, he hears Kaynen say something and then the unmistakable sound of a metal blade striking the door in a miss. "They're here," he alerts the others as he takes off to join the fray.
Oswald glances in Mikhail's direction as the man rushes in the direction of the kitchen, though he hears nothing but the wind whiping about outside, "Who's here? More corrupted souls needing a slow, agonizing death before going to their vile god? Oh! Let's pull their teeth and fingernails out this time before we kill them! They deserve it ten times over for my poor, sweet, little one." The mad doctor gathers up his gore-splattered club as he starts after Mikhail.
I thought we were supposed to go through the front door... So much for the best laid plans.
"Soups on boys!!
He gives a shout into the kitchen, hoping his compatriots get the idea and steps in close with a dagger thrust, trying to clean things up a little more subtly.
Kherg follows the other two to the kitchen. He sees the guard in trouble and grins wolfishly. The priest looks around and tells Grumblejack to wait near the main door. It is far too crowded now for Kherg, he positively hops from one foot to the other waiting for Barnabas or Mikhail to let him get a mace strike in.
His ears easily picking up both the sounds of battle, as well as Barnabas' shout, Ethaniel quickly makes his way to the kitchen. Once there though, he finds that the fight is over almost as quickly as it began, the guard falling beneath Kaynen's and Barnabas' deadly strikes.
"Well, you do not seem to require any assistance after all," the magus remarks simply.