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The days stretch out like winter festival toffees in the pink mouths of fat farmer children. How long had you been in the Black Tower? Days? weeks? months? Time was a malleable concept when there was no sun or moons to mark its passage.
The bars of your cage disturb you with their whispers. Forged of exotic magical alloys the Royal Arcanum had devised to contain your power, they are imbued with a malevolent half-sentience. They giggled and mocked you endlessly.
sss.. hee ...hee ..never will you leave... you will die and be one with usssss......
Such petty fetches are beneath your concern, but their constant whispering is an irritant, like a fly one can't seem to catch.
The guards do not whisper, nor do they talk. They arrive at uncertain intervals, bearing gruel in wooden bowls. Their faces are hidden behind mirror-bright visors, their bodies hulking and armed to the teeth.
One day, down the long corridor of days there is a change. Instead of three guards there is a dozen. The bars are angry. They hiss and mutter, upset about something. After the dozen guards set up in a half circle by your never-opened door another man arrives, robed in the scarlet and blue of the Arcanum. He gestures to you and you stand, curious to hear anything new after all this time.
"Someone wishes to meet with you, prisoner. Do you accept the invitation?"
The question is so incongruous, so bizarre you involuntarily laugh
"Why not?"
The guards approach the door and command you kneel. They enter and secure you with the smaller cousins of your hateful bars. The metal bites at your legs and arms like angry ferrets, growling maledictions. They lead you out of your cage.
You depart the Black Tower for the first time since your capture. Outside it is winter. Snow lies thick on the land and your thin prison clothes leave you scant protection from the elements. You care not, you marvel at the ice-blue sky and golden winter sun.
You are led to a hall, with benches receding back into the shadows. A law place, though you saw no trial, no judge. No one questioned your guilt. The hall is thronged with guards and officals of various stripes. You are led to a dock, one of several lined up in front of the judge's bench. There you are chained fast by arm and leg to solid ring bolts in the floor. You note others are chained next to you.
As you await this passion play to unfold you test your strength against the chains, but all your powers are muted. The metal saps you, you are no more powerful than a mouth-breathing dirt-eating peasant. This awakens a smoldering anger in you. You swear one day to avenge this humiliation.
A man arrives and climbs into the judge's chair, surrounded by a phalanx of armed guards. He is armed and armored as well, with heraldic tokens that bespeak his prominence in the royal Argoanian court. His squire holds a Gladius Judicus across open palms, signalling this noble has the right of summary justice throughout Argoan. He looks at you and those chained next to you, a solemn expression bolted to his high-cheekboned features.
Dotted!
Edit - What am I doing? I do not want to be hung! ~pleads for mercy from the court~ I am one of the good guys! I do not belong here with all these scum!
Myth addresses the Judge, "So then you have come to your senses and decided to release me? It was all just a misunderstanding, I was never given a chance to explain myself... Besides, how can all of the activities that took place that day be lain solely at my feet?"
A few hours previously ....
Chandi shivers at the late winter chill as she enters the Fortress of Judicia. The castle/prison is the endpoint for all of the worst criminals in Argoan, and the worst of these end up in the Black Tower. Chandi had hunted some of these down, under the auspices of her liege lord, Duke HarSkeralda, Ubermenchenjaeger of the Hertzogg crown.
The tall statue of Lady Judicia lay wreathed in snow in the central courtyard, her scales in one hand, book of laws in another. Those that scorned her worship called her 'thieves' mistress', but her mercy had brought peace and justice to Argoan. No one died of unfounded accusations, and no one took the Pale Lady's justice into their own hands, lest they be judged in turn.
Chandi enters the Hall of Justice, and heads upstairs to the private offices of the Law officials. Duke HarSkeralda is in residence, his travelling retinue occupying most of the western wing of the third story of the hall. Chandi passes through various functionaries and guards until she reaches the Duke's office.
Duke HarSkeralda is a noble, but not a bad man at heart. After a few ritual greetings he motions for Chandi to sit down informally. A roaring fire at the hearth warms the room, and the Duke's two wolfhounds Guilty and Innocent lie stretched out on a bearskin rug before it.
"Good morning Chandi. I trust your trip was uneventful. I have a difficult task I was hoping you would undertake for me."
He lights a pipe, offering Chandi one if she wishes
"Recently the Suderlands have seen a massive upswing in raids by various humanoid tribes. This could be attributed to the usual causes: overpopulation in the Underdark tribes, some disaster, political upheaval, etc. However this seems to have a deeper cause."
He puffs on his pipe and continues
"There have been reports of drow among the raiders. Now, drow haven't been seen in force on the surface for hundreds of years. The few bits of information we have gleaned is that there is something truly massive occuring in the Underdark, far far under the Helkaraxe Mountains.
"As you know, travelling much farther than the few first caves is a task not for the weak of spirit. I am loath to send troops or heroes down into that abyss. Yet, we really need to find out what is going on so that we can fashion a defense.
"It was suggested that we send some of our more powerful 'guests' as a scouting party. They could earn their freedom, and we could have a group we didn't overmuch care for take the risks. There is only one hangup. We need at least one loyal Argoan hero to accompany them on their journey to assure they don't just disappear as soon as they get out of the Black Tower. Your name made the short list."
The duke puffs his pipe again
"Now, this is a voluntary mission. I would not ask it of you, but the kingdom could be in major peril. If the drow are preparing a major offensive it could desolate large portions of the Suderlands, and with it our kingdom's breadbasket. I need to know, would you take this quest on?"
Chandi pauses in the courtyard for a moment to regard the prominent statue there. An old memory tickles the back of her mind, but she is unable to bring it to clarity, as usual. She wonders what the pans of the scale originally represented. Evidence, as is popularly though? Guilt vs innocence? Justice vs mercy? Crime vs punishment? She thinks the past memory could relate to the subject, but passes on as the urgency of the cutting wind overcomes her curiosity.
Chandi bows politely as she enters the Duke's office, not so much concerned for the standards of politeness of the day, but to acknowledge his basic decency in spite of the power he wields. Such concern for justice and for the people he ruled speaks well of his soul and of his chances of advancing on the Great Wheel. She sits at the Duke's invitation with a nod of thanks, and declines his offer of a pipe with an upraised palm and small shake of her head.
The room feels hot and stuffy after the brisk outdoors, neither one particularly to her taste. She ignores the discomfort and hears the nobleman out to the end of his speech. Listening quietly is part of daily life in her home, as is meditating on what she has heard. She does not realize her thoughtfulness is overlong until the nobleman starts to fidget and clear his throat. Though her meditation is not complete, the duke needs some sort of response from her.
"The cause is worthy, Your Grace. The evidence of a threat is sound." She ponders a moment more. "If their reward for this mission is freedom, what is to stop them from taking that freedom right away and sneaking off to avoid the danger? I am skilled, but not skilled enough to keep a group of puissant criminals under control. And despite my assurance of continuing on past this life, I do not feel that this lifetime's work is complete just yet."
The duke smiles
"Our friends at the Royal Arcanum have come up with a solution"
He rises and fetches a wooden box. He sets it in his desk and opens it. Within is a slender silver collar
"This is a collar each prisoner will wear. You will receive a more esthetically pleasing necklace. Your necklace will be tied sympathetically to the collars. Should any of them get more than 3 kilometers from you they will suffer a sudden constriction, severing their head from their neck. This will also occur should you cease living or the necklace be removed from your person for more than 24 hours. "
Chandi nods impassively. "As long as they are well aware of it. And believe. It would not do to have them test the system. And if I take this on, what is in it for me?"
The duke nods
"Understandable concern. There is a 'warning' function that will choke a wearer for a few seconds. You merely have to hold the pendant of your necklace and point at the proper penitent. No damage initially, but it will choke them as long as you hold the pendant."
The duke tamps his pipe out in a cut crystal bowl.
"As for your reward. The crown is prepared to grant you a baronetecy and a small fief in the Suderlands. You would also be given a one-time cash payment of 10,000 gold Royals and an increase in rank to Justicar."
The duke smiles
"I can't think of a better Menchenjaeger to promote to both the nobility and Justicar. I know you would do your new title and rank proud."
"And this venture allows me the chance to give them the chance to save their souls from backsliding on the Great Wheel." She ventures a stiff smile at the duke. "After this, I may require a place in the country to rest. Very well, Your Grace. You have your gaoler."
The duke smiles wider and clasps hands with Chandi
"Splendid! Now, they are preparing to bring the penitents to the Great Hall. Have you eaten? We have about an hour before they're ready. I'd like you to be there by me so that you can get their measure "
"I am not hungry. Perhaps my time until then would best be spent learning more of those you have selected - their abilities and their crimes?"
Chandi whiles away the time until the presentation of the criminals however the duke sees fit, though the conversation has quite taken away her appetite. She joins him in the Great Hall to watch her new charges as they learn of their mission.
One of the chained prisoners is a man built on a massive scale – six and a half feet in height, his arms and chest bulging with muscle, though they are no match for the strength-sapping manacles. The man is hairless, and despite the muscles, strangely gaunt looking in places.
In the dim light of the cells of the Black Tower the big man’s eyes had glowed red, and the other prisoners and guards had noticed there was something odd about his skin – it looked strangely mottled, white and dull red and shadow grey, with uneven black stripes here and there. Here, in the bright winter sun streaming through the high windows above the centre of the hall of law, it can be seen that his skin is translucent – the mottled colours below are the man’s muscles, blood vessels and bones, visible through this strange skin in the light. The black bands appear like links of metal chain, somehow below the skin, seemingly threaded into and through muscle and bone. His lips are stitched together, allowing them to part only slightly. He attempts no verbal answer when the guards or the Arcanum mage address him.
Another of the chained prisoners is a lithe, wiry man with skin the color of smooth slate. As he is brought in, he says nothing. His eyes look about with apparent disinterest, but a faint turn of his lips suggests some amusement at the proceeding, or perhaps it evinces the confidence of a man who sees some higher purpose in whatever transpires. He simply stands at ease in his restraints, waiting for someone to speak.
As he shifts slightly, he exposes a small tattoo inked on his forearm - a black spider, with the red markings of a black widow upon its back.
The third man to be brought into the halls of justice provides a stark contrast to the melancholy pair preceding him. Though nearly as large as the hairless giant, his fair skin is surprisingly healthy-looking for one who has spent the past decade locked in a cell. He whistles a snippet of a jaunty tune, running a finger through his wavy blond locks, as he sizes up his fellow prisoners. After a moment, he stops whistling and points his manacled hands in the direction of the small, gray-skinned man.
"Hey, buddy. Nice spider tattoo. I bet you're just about the coolest guy ever."
Turning to the larger prisoner, he continues.
"And you, you look like you need to lighten up. You like jokes, buddy? Here's one for you: What's red and bad for your teeth?"
He pauses for a second, as if expecting some kind of guess from the prisoner's stitched-up lips, then finishes the joke.
"...A brick. Get it?"
Talking to no one in particular, still glancing around the room, he adds, "Looks like they're letting us all out. I bet they're letting me out. I mean, why else would they bring me out here? And it's about time, too, after all the things I've done for those ungrateful folks up in the big hall."
Another, longer pause.
"You think they'll give me my stuff back?"
"Alright, alright, how about this one: Why do they put up walls around cemeteries? Because people are dying to get in there. Dying, get it?"
"What, no response from either of you? Okay, what about this one: So this guy is selling his dog, and the new owner asks him, "And does he like little kids?" And then the guy selling the dog says to him, "Yeah, but it's usually cheaper just to give him dog food."
"Man, this is a rough bunch. Can you guys even talk? 'Cause you two toadstools are starting to make me seriously uncomfortable here."
Eddin then points to the small, gray-skinned man.
"Especially you, Cool Guy."
The wiry, grey-skinned man turns slowly to the loquacious newcomer. "Well we know why this one is here. Jokes that bad would get you the beheaded in other kingdoms. I can see the appeal..."
The wiry, grey-skinned man turns slowly to the loquacious newcomer. "Well we know why this one is here. Jokes that bad would get you the beheaded in other kingdoms. I can see the appeal..."
Eddin gives a hearty, genuine laugh, showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth.
"Hey, he can talk. And he's funny, too. I think you and me are going to be friends, Cool Guy."
"If you want to start braiding each other's hair, count me out," the fetchling says dryly.
Eddin gives another hearty laugh, then gestures to the stitch-lipped giant.
"Any idea what the deal is with Sunshine over there? Looks like he's been through the wringer and back. Actually, now that I think of it, he might be the wringer..."
The stitch-lipped man finally turns to look at the blonde haired fellow.
After about a minute and a half he turns back to look at the judge.
"I am not hungry. Perhaps my time until then would best be spent learning more of those you have selected - their abilities and their crimes?"
Chandi whiles away the time until the presentation of the criminals however the duke sees fit, though the conversation has quite taken away her appetite. She joins him in the Great Hall to watch her new charges as they learn of their mission.
Chandi enters the Hall of Justice's Great Courtroom with the Duke and his retinue. She hangs back with his escorts, choosing to observe the penitents from the shadows. The Duke settles himself in the judge's chair, his squire Fundus displaying the Gladius Judicus, symbol of his right to dispense justice in the name of the Hetzogg throne.
As they settle in, she hears the one penitent cracking wise, and his neighbor's reply. The large unsettling penitent remains silent, perhaps whether he would like to or not
Myth has made his point, he'll not speak again until the Judge responds to his assertions. The dark haired dark eyed elf does not bother to glance at his fellows after all what have they to do with him?
Myth has made his point, he'll not speak again until the Judge responds to his assertions. The dark haired dark eyed elf does not bother to glance at his fellows after all what have they to do with him?
Eddin happens to glance in Myth's direction, and notices the elf for the first time.
"Hey there, I didn't even notice you brooding over there in the shadows. Boy, you look like some kind of sad sack, don't you. Come on, buddy, turn that frown upside-down."
Myth sneers at the human, "With your poor eyesight ape I am surprised you notice anything. I would tell you to remain quiet but I suppose you think you are just so clever that everyone else needs to know just how clever you are. Perhaps at some point you will say something witty though I'll not place any wager that it will happen in the short time you have left fouling up the air next to me".
Myth sneers at the human, "With your poor eyesight ape I am surprised you notice anything. I would tell you to remain quiet but I suppose you think you are just so clever that everyone else needs to know just how clever you are. Perhaps at some point you will say something witty though I'll not place any wager that it will happen in the short time you have left fouling up the air next to me".
Eddin raises his hands as if to fend off an imaginary attack from the elf.
"Whoa there, Sad Sack, that's an awful lot of big words there for a little fella. I'm just a regular guy trying to get my kicks in this rough world, but you seem like you're wrapped tighter than tight. You know what, friend? I think when they let us all out of here, we need to get you laid. Or drunk. Or both. What do you say, pal?"
He briefly turns back to the other two prisoners, rolling his eyes and commenting in a dramatic stage whisper.
"Can you believe this guy? No sense of fun at all."
The clear skinned muscle man turns to look without expression at the elf then back at the blonde. Apparently not seeing anything worth commenting on (as much as might be possible through those stitched lips), he then turns back to stare unblinkingly at the duke.
"Hey, did you ever hear the one about the creeping mold? I could tell it to you, but you might need to give it some time to grow on you."
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"I can't help thinking they stitched up the wrong guy's lips," the wiry man says to no one in particular.
Still restlessly scanning the room, Eddin seems to come to a realization. Looking from each of the other three prisoners to the next, then to the imposing woman standing with the Duke's retainers, finally speaking to no one in particular.
"Is it just me, or is everyone else here gray? Did I miss a meeting or something?"
Lip stitching is not a typical punishment or incarceration technique within the Black Tower. Prison scuttlebutt has it that the big prisoner stitched his own lips together using some improvised tool and thread from a prison robe soon after being incarcerated, although to what purpose no one can really say. The prisoner in the cell across the hall has commented that it makes for a messy and noisy spectacle consuming the daily bowl of gruel …
Another prisoner is drug, weakly struggling, into the chamber.
The strength and will-sapping shackles do not seem to have slowed down the mouth on this particular prisoner either, judging from the amount of noise he is making.
"Hey! This is ALL a mistake I'm tellin' ya'! I didn't steal that girdle from the temple! It was a GIFT! It ain't my fault the Ash is so irresistible! Ask the high priestess! IF I was gonna STEAL it, you would never have seen me!" The snarling voice of the prisoner protests vehemently.
The guards drag the lithe elf, dirty from his incarceration, forward to join the others prisoners. Seeing the others gathered, he renews his weak struggles.
"Aw Hades no! You ain't lumping ME in with a bunch of losers! I got rights! I demand a retrial! Heck, I demand a FIRST trial!" The elf complains loudly.
"OW! Watch the goods you over-armored neanderthal!" The elf yelps after a particularly enthusiastic shove from another guard. "I'm valuable property! Damage me and you'll regret it! TOUCH me again, and you'll regret it, get it?!?" he snarls in the closest guards face.
In response, the guard yanks him forward again.
"OK. THAT'S it! I warned you, you throwback, hairy, ape!" The elf mutters. With a sudden surge of strength, the elf stands up on his own, and manages to twist around to where his manacled hands can touch the offensive guard. He slaps his hand against the guard's armored breastplate with a "Hah!".
Both the elf and the guard stare at the hand for a moment. The guard dispassionately, the elf surprised, then angry, as if the hand had somehow offended him as well.
"Perfect. Just. Perfect." The elf sags and mutters to himself as the guards finally drag him the last few feet into line with the other prisoners.
"LET! ME! GO!" The elf howls at the ceiling. The guards obligingly release him, and he lands on his knees. Hard.
"Ow. Thanks. Cretins." The elf mutters.
With a long-suffering sigh of resignation, the elf straightens himself up, and flips his long ashen-blond hair out of his face. It is immediately obvious that he thinks highly of himself. He glances around the collected group, then scans the room casually.
A sharp eye may notice that his gaze only appears disinterested. His sharp eyes actually linger only on those who have something worthwhile on them, like weapons or jewelry.
"Well, Well, Well. What have we got here?" The elf asks, standing up on his feet with the others. "Looks like a wannabe collection of 'Realms Most Wanted', only what YOU all are doing here with the real deal is beyond me." The elf shakes his head.
"This is really a blow to my ego. A sign of how far the mighty have fallen. In my day, I would never have been lumped in with a group like this. Whatever THIS is." The elf adds, taking a closer look at the clear-skinned man with the sewn lips. He gestures at the lips.
"If MY tailor did that, I'd get my money back if I were you." he says earnestly.
Myth gives a withering gaze to the newly arrived elf and retorts,
"Well, Well, Well. What have we got here?" The elf asks, standing up on his feet with the others. "Looks like a wannabe collection of 'Realms Most Wanted', only what YOU all are doing here with the real deal is beyond me." The elf shakes his head.
"This is really a blow to my ego. A sign of how far the mighty have fallen. In my day, I would never have been lumped in with a group like this. Whatever THIS is." The elf adds, taking a closer look at the clear-skinned man with the sewn lips. He gestures at the lips.
"If MY tailor did that, I'd get my money back if I were you." he says earnestly.
As the latest prisoner is ushered into the chamber, Eddin points at the shackled elf.
"See? Another gray guy. I rest my case."
He continues, addressing the newcomer.
"Hey there, pal, you seem awfully wound-up. Is that an elf thing? I think it's an elf thing."
Eddin jerks an explanatory thumb in Mythaniel's direction.
"Anyway, why so dramatic, buddy? They're gonna let me out today. I think that's cause enough for celebration. You and me and all of my new friends here are gonna have some party tonight, let me tell you what. And besides, they might be letting you out too. All you did was steal a bunch of people's stuff, you didn't even kill anybody important."
"Come one, cheer up, Whitey. Hey, here's a good one for you. Ever hear the one about the guy who stabbed his mother to death while she was in bed? The magistrate charged him with mattress-cide."
Myth gives a withering gaze to the newly arrived elf and retorts, ** spoiler omitted **
The new arrival stops, and turns his head slowly towards the other elf. His look incredulous. The newcomer points to himself as he speaks.
Elvish
"Are you talking to ME?!? Sure. Sure thing Pal."
The newcomer says clearly sarcastically, taking in the other prisoner's disheveled appearance.
Elvish
"Suuuuure. I was born among the People. A fat lot of good they've done for either of us! Yeah, I recognize you. Seen your wanted posters. But since you obviously don't know who I am, I'll tell ya'. I'M the guy with more refinement and dignity in my little finger than you've got in your whole, scrawny body!"
Despite what the elf is saying in elvish, the digit he holds up is most assuredly not the small finger.
The newcomer turns towards the chatty human. His look becomes even more incredulous.
"Wow. Everyone's a comedian. Too bad no one's any good! That was terrible. You should put that Mattress joke to bed. Or better yet, put it to sleep and out of our misery! Leave the puns to the professionals kid. Your gonna hurt yourself." The elf tells the talkative human. But one side of his lip is curled up in what might be amusement.
"Of COURSE I never killed anyone! Except in self-defense!" The elf adds hastily with a glance at the magistrate seated above them.
"And no one has ever proven that I stole anything! It's all a pack of lies!" He protests, directly facing the bench.
"Stoopid so-called 'partners' kept getting us caught before we could ever break in. THAT's why I fly solo!" He mutters to himself.
"Mmm. 'Self-defense' can be a very profitable venture," the fetchling says wryly.
"What I don't understand are all these protestations of innocence. If you do a thing, and you do it well, you ought to say so." He turns and speaks directly to the judges' bench in a loud, clear voice. "I killed several people in cold blood. I'm damn good at it, and was paid handsomely for most of them."
He turns back to the talkative elf with a cool grin. "See? Like so."
The elf coolly smiles back.
"Admirable. If a bit too cold-blooded for my taste." He admits with a certain reluctance.
"I AM good at what I do. And I enjoy it. And it doesn't hurt anyone. Usually. I never said I wasn't a good thief. I'm a great thief. All of the things they say I stole are lies. I didn't do it."
He leans towards the fetchling and adds in a stage whisper.
"It's the things I DID steal, and they don't know who did it or how it was done. THOSE stories are the stuff of legend!" His lip curls up in a smirk.
"What do you mean, "didn't hurt anyone?" That's the best part. You're killin' me, Whitey. Or not killin' me, as the case may be."
"Mmm. 'Self-defense' can be a very profitable venture," the fetchling says wryly.
"What I don't understand are all these protestations of innocence. If you do a thing, and you do it well, you ought to say so." He turns and speaks directly to the judges' bench in a loud, clear voice. "I killed several people in cold blood. I'm damn good at it, and was paid handsomely for most of them."
He turns back to the talkative elf with a cool grin. "See? Like so."
"See, Cool Guy here knows what it's all about, eh?"
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"Like I always say, it's better to be wanted for murder than not to be wanted at all."
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Chandi stands impassively next to the noble magistrate, arms folded, as she watches the two elves squabble. I'm rather glad I don't know Elven, she muses.
In less than a minute, her thought changes to, I wish I didn't know Common.
Myth does not waste breath responding, after all, he'll not see these fools again.
"Aw, come one, I've never seen such a bunch of wet blankets in my life. Especially you, Sad Sack."
"What do you mean, "didn't hurt anyone?" That's the best part. You're killin' me, Whitey. Or not killin' me, as the case may be."
"The 'Best Part'? Really? Wow. You apes really are lower on the totem pole than I was led to believe." The ashen-haired elf replies, shaking his head at the boisterous human.
"I have no problem with, shall we say, 'Settling differences with extreme prejudice'. But if you can't get in, get what you came for, and get out without anyone the wiser,..."
The elf's lip curls up in what seems to be his trademark smirk/sneer.
"Then get out of the way, and let a professional in to do the job!"
"Like I always say, it's better to be wanted for murder than not to be wanted at all."
"Yes. I can see why someone might want to murder you." The elf replies with a straight face.
"Aw, come one, I've never seen such a bunch of wet blankets in my life. Especially you, Sad Sack."
The elf opens his mouth, then closes it and looks actually thoughtful for a moment. He turns to the dark-haired elf.
"I was gonna snark him, but he's got a point." He shrugs apologetically.
The mute giant turns to look at the pale haired elf. What might possibly be a frown passes his mostly impassive face. He turns back away, and begins to intently study the woman standing beside the duke, taking particular note of any arms or armour (or lack thereof) and any movements she makes.
Myth does not respond to either taunt, he was not here to banter back and forth, he was here to plead his case.
He looks back at the man in the Judge's seat, "You certainly must have had enough of this. Do us the courtesy of explaining what you have summoned us forth for, I for one am ready to defend my actions in a proper trial".