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?
After the events at the Royal Court you were all thrown in a wagon, manacled and bound with the other eight 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, as you made your way to Branderscar Prison. But what did you remember of your trip to the prison and did you see anything that might help you escape?
Example of prison dress and the way you are shackled.
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Current Location: Branderscar Prison: Cellblock, Date: Oathday, Erastus 24th,(Summer) 4714 Time: 4:00 pm (Day:Zero)
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Tkaara looks about the cell, her eyes partially swollen and a hacking cough coming forth almost the second the hood is once more taken off. As the guards depart, she spits at them:
May you all contract your wife's lover's diseases.
She then looks around the cell, unable to concentrate for long as her breathing is shallow and it is clear that whatever ill health she was suffering from in the Royal Court has returned with a vengeance.
Hecate had managed to keep herself together throughout most of her ordeal: her sudden, late-night arrest, the cruel and rather creepy mind games and caresses from Sir Balin, her sentencing; even the punishments she was forced to watch of those whose sentence was carried out immediately. But at Branderscar, her courage finally failed. Having never endured much in the way of physical pain, she was sobbing even as they dragged her to the brazier and held her down. Her shockingly loud scream was cut off as she fainted; perhaps mercifully, she was thus spared the smell of her own burning flesh. She doesn't remember what happened after that...
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Hecate moans faintly as she regains consciousness. Her shoulders are aching where they've been supporting her unconscious form in the chains, and her arm ... She doesn't want to think about her arm. Her mouth is dry and her whole body feels hot, feverish. She tries to lick her lips but her tongue feels like sandpaper.
Hotter still is her rage - not rage, hatred , she realises: hatred of all those who have tried to prevent her studying and practising magic, from her late mother (who didn't want her even to go to the Academy), to those who brought her here simply because of what she chose to study. It's a great feeling, revitalising; it stops her giving in to despair. Revenge is what she needs, craves; but first, survival.
She can't see the others. Have they been executed already? She doesn't think she's been unconscious for that long, but has no way of telling. Licking her lips once more, Hecate croaks softly into the darkness: "Are you there...?"
Etna stays still for a long minute, organizing her thoughts.
So, I've been sent to Brandescar. In three days, I'll be brought to the Salt Mines, where I'll day in about 10 days, give or take. I'll have to escape as soon as possible, but at least I'm not alone.
She glances briefly at her companions, and then smiles briefly at the unconscious wizard on her left.
If an hot poker had this effect, I don't even want to think at her reaction when she'll be burned at the stake. That is, if she's burned at the stake: I'll need her help and of everyone else in this cell to get out of here...
She then tries to move around her arms and legs, to see how much freedom of movement she has.
Unconsciously, she moves to massage the runic F on her arm, only to grunt when the chains impede her movements. A moment later Hecate wakes "Yes, we're here. A little better? You were screaming at the top of your lungs, and then nothing." she asks to the young wizard, as low as possible as to not alert the guards.
Hecate makes a face; she's certain that the others were more stoic than she was about being branded. Way to impress everyone, she rebukes herself. "Well, first time is always special..." she murmurs drily in reply to Etna, trying to make a joke of sorts out of it. In truth though, she's still in a lot of pain; she does her best to hide it but her voice isn't cooperative.
The young woman tests the extent of the chains binding her. Hmm. No somatic components, then. "Can't see a thing, but then I suppose that means that the guards can't see us," she mutters.
Erevan chuckles softly at Hecate's snarky little joke. "Here as well, dear lady," he says in his usual tone, pleasantly enough considering the circumstances.
Clenching and unclenching his left hand as he gets used to the freshly branded letter on his forearm, he looks around; neither the dim light beyond the brightly lit area of the torches nor the darkness beyond that pose too much trouble to his eyesight, but that is a little secret he is not quite ready to divulge just yet. Instead, he mentions nothing of what he is able to see, not that it would do them much good in their current situation anyway, he reasons. Instead he opts to talk to the rest of his cellmates, their number now greatly diminished when compared to how many they were in the Royal Court and before the executions.
"So, apart from the three ladies, who else is here, if I may ask? Come now, do not be shy," he asks, keeping his voice even, not only because such is his habit, but because making any guards that are around curious enough to have them come over is not something he finds he wants at the moment. "And also, if one of you not-quite-so-human fellows could possibly tell me what that scraping noise is? The one that sounds like chains being dragged around?"
Dr. Wilken endures his continued captivity in silence. When the branding occurs, the Beast attempts to surge forth; the guards are likely surprised when it takes five of them to securely hold him down, and all it earns him is a blow that finally finishes the job of shattering his spectacles. When he is secured in the cell with his fellow prisoners, the sharp scent of freshly cooked flesh makes him feel almost... hungry.
Hanging there, in the darkness, chained to the wall, he meditates. He has spent countless hours honing his mind and body, cultivating the strength necessary to master his baser self, and surely such will come in handy now. Unlike some of the others, he does not feel particular malice toward the Talireans, other than his general disdain for ignorant fools. Instead he sees them, like the manacles currently digging into his wrists, as nothing more than an obstacle in his way. An obstacle that, like an unwanted growth, would be excised with surgical precision. To that end, his fellows began to stir around him. A potentially useful lot, them, with a diverse skillset just begging to be utilized...
"Do not fret, Fraulein. We are all present, and each of us deals with pain in our own way. You are likely correct that the guards cannot see us, assuming they are not dwarves or somesuch; a foolish decision on their part, one that may work to our advantage, if only we could secure something that could be used as makeshift lockpicks." He scowls in the darkness. "Something regrettably easier said than done."
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Between wheezing breaths and an occasional groan of unknown cause, Tkaara listens to the others talk. After the Doctor finishes, she looks over toward him, watching him carefully.
Even dreaming of obtaining such an object is unimaginable. This is not a general store or adventurers bazaar. This short statement is followed by a cough and several moments of the former barrister attempting to catch her breath.
If we are to be here, then we are. If it is the will of the powers that be that we die by sword, fire and hard labor, then it will be so. If our fortune lies elsewhere, then that shall be instead.
Suddenly Tkaara realizes the pain in her left arm. Looking down, she realizes that she too was branded with the sign of the forsaken.
Nice brand. Will take some thought to find jewelry and clothing which really sets such a mark off.
Somewhere in the depths of her mind, Tkaara knows that the brand should hurt, but it does not. Perhaps it is this incessant cold, or something else. Either way, after staring at it like it is an unwanted stray, she returns her gaze to carefully watching the others to see how they respond to the comments of the others.
A sudden loud rattling of heavy chains to the west of your cell suddenly has everyone's attention, a deep loud course sounding voice emerges in a strange tongue.
You see a guard pop up in the guard room to the south and peer through the bars inward toward the cellblock.
"It's awake again." you hear the guard mention to others behind him, from the sound of the voices from the guard room you can tell that there is at least four men in the guardroom, possibly more.
"We can't keep drugging it." you overhear one of the guards say.
In response another guard answered back, "Then what do you suggest we do Frankie? Two guards died just getting it into that cell. Go down and get some more of the stuff, and hurry."
After the brief exchange all goes quiet again except for an occasional rattle of heavy chains in the west of the cellblock.
"Grumblejack head hurt, little 'uns hurt Grumblejack, Grumblejack eat liitl 'uns"
Whatever the creature is in the western reenforced cell stood up for a moment and you got a better look at it, humanoid in shape you would guess it is at least ten feet tall and would weigh about 650 pounds if you had to guess.
Example of prison dress and the way you are shackled.
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Current Location: Branderscar Prison: Cellblock, Date: Oathday, Erastus 24th,(Summer) 4714 Time: 4:05 pm (Day:Zero)
Hecate listens carefully, noting the guard's name and trying to discern their numbers. She has something of an eidetic memory; a useful skill for a scholar, but maybe it has wider applicability. She recognises the language being spoken, but not the meaning. Still, that gives a clue as to the nature of the occupant... More useful information.
The young woman smiles at the mention of lockpicks - she can escape the chains without them, but she doesn't say that: she doesn't want the others to worry about whether she'd just slip away without them. She wouldn't, of course; she's not that kind of girl. But why cause needless worry? "As long as we're wishing, I wouldn't mind a candle, a bag, some sand, a piece of cured leather and a firefly or two," she ventures quietly.
If we are to be here, then we are. If it is the will of the powers that be that we die by sword, fire and hard labor, then it will be so. If our fortune lies elsewhere, then that shall be instead.
"Screw that." Again, Hecate stumbles slightly over the words; swearing doesn't come naturally to her, but she was lost for a more eloquent reply. "Listen, there's a saying in Infernal which translates loosely as 'Asmodeus helps those who help themselves.' Waiting for divine intervention is no plan at all."
Immediately regretting her words, she bites her lip. "Sorry, Tkaara, that was more confrontational than I intended. I admit, without light or spell components I'm at a disadvantage; but I still have my wits. That thing, whatever it is, is speaking Giant; my guess would be that they drug it regularly. Give me another day and I'll have memorised the guards' schedules. Then we can make a plan."
"Giant, uh?" Etna says as she examine the creature in the darkness "Was I imagining things, or it repeated a word more than once? Grumblejack, if I heard correctly?"
She stays silent for a moment, thinking."Surely they're using large doses of drugs to keep that thing down. If-when we get out of this cell, we could get our hands on those to help us escape. Will that work, Doctor?" she asks to Ottokar. For all she knew, there could exist drugs that only worked on large monster shackled in dark cells.
"And let's not be so negative" Etna smiles to Tkaara "It's only natural that we're searching for a way to escape. It can't get any worse, anyway. My 'life of hard labor' would last for a week or so, if I were sent to the salt mines. Not that it will happen." she concludes with a grin.
"The hardest thing will be to free ourselves from this manacles, get rid of the nearby guards, and then everything after that will be easier." Once again, she move around her numbed hands and arms "It's out of my capabilities to learn the guards' schedules like Hecate, but I don't need spell components. I'm not able to char them alive-and I wouldn't stoop so low even if I could- but I can easily trick a bunch of brawny grunts."
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Tkaara looks back at her monocrome cellmates, her gaze fixing on Etna:
Would that I should last that long. I doubt the mines would be so kind to me as to allow that lengthy a stay. Without medicine, I don't think I would last two nights in the salt mines.
As far as escaping, I do not know what I can do to help. My tongue has been my weapon of trade for many years, but I doubt that will get us a reprieve from these shackles.
She looks over at Hecate:
For many years, I have used a pretty smile to aid my inquiries. However, this incessant cold has not aided me in these endeavors. It has only drained me more, so that now I tire just taking a walk. She shakes the manacles. At least, if I were able to take a walk, it would tire me.
Despite her pessimism, Tkaara also feels the shackles on her wrists, wondering if there might be some way out. As she does so, she thinks back:
"You are not alone." - What could this mean? Here we all sit in Branderscar, about as alone as six convicted could be. Is this giant creature what is referred to? Who was that strange old woman, clearly not part of the Royal Court.
After pondering this for a few moments, Tkaara looks up once more, her breathing shallow:
I do not think we should make any attempt at freedom until we learn what we can of this place. We have three days until the more than proverbial axe falls. If our young wizard can learn guard shifts and numbers, this is vital. If others can gain other insight, then this will be most valuable. Finally, if someone can communicate with the giant next door, that could not be adverse to our freedom.
Ottakar nods to himself. "Sedatives of some sort might very well come in useful, should we manage to slip our manacles and cell, especially if there are more hounds. Even that dumb brute, whatever it is, might be useful in the right circumstances. It will be a balancing act; if we try to escape and fail, security will likely be tightened to the point that we will not get a second chance, therefore we must plan and give ourselves enough time to collect resourses to make our first attempt truly count, without wasting so much time that we run out."
A few minutes later you see a set of four prison guards make their way into the cellblock, they secure the door behind them. One has a torch and a signal whistle already placed in his mouth ready to alert of trouble, two of the others have their clubs drawn, each club not made from wood but what looks like leather and every guard carries longswords on their sides, longbows and a quiver on their backs. They all wear guard uniforms but you can clearly see the glint of chainmail underneath. They all have a heavy steel shield strapped to their arm. The lead guard has a blow dart gun in his hands and is loading it as they approach.
As the guards pass your cell the torch light illuminates a lot of the cellblock, you can see other cells around but all seem to be empty at the moment, as they near the reenforced cage in the west of the cellblock you all get a good look at exactly what is in the cage. It stands just over ten feet tall and weighs around 650 pounds. This lumbering giant's beady eyes are devoid of wit or kindness, and its puffy face features a wide mouth with ill-fitting teeth. From the look of its injuries it has been beaten pretty bad in the recent past.
As the guards come close to the cage the giant spits in broken common. "Grumblejack not be kept as pet my little 'uns. Grumblejack eat little 'uns. Grumblejack smash little 'uns." the chains rattle loudly as the creature struggles to get free. You watch as the dart gun is used to deliver no less than 5 darts into the shackled creature. It slumps to the floor of the cell and falls asleep.
As the guards leave the cellblock they momentarily stop in front of your cell and visually inspect everything through the bars. Then one of the guards says to all of you as he turns to leave "Keep it down in here or we will be forced to give you a right good thrashing."
The unit of guards then leave the cellblock and return to their guardroom and all is dark again.
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Current Location: Branderscar Prison: Cellblock, Date: Oathday, Erastus 24th,(Summer) 4714 Time: 4:20 pm (Day:Zero)
An injected sedative," the doctor mumbles to himself. "Now that would be useful.
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Tkaara squints, surprised by how bright the torches are after being in the dimly lit area before. Once the guards leave and the blindingly bright torch is taken, she quietly calls to Hecate.
Was that torch abnormally bright? It was almost blinding, which is probably intentional to keep us disoriented. The dim lighting they have now is much better.
She then looks over at the sleeping giant next door.
Wonder what he did to get sent here? Seems a strange place to put a barbaric giant from the north.
"From the sound of things, whatever it was it probably involved the smashing and eating of "little ones", and not necessarily in that order," Erevan quips with a little smile. Still, he very much agrees with the doctor; if they are to even entertain the thought of escape from this place, any help would be welcome. And a ten-foot tall giant with a grudge could provide such help.
As soon as the guards are gone, leaving them once again more or less alone, he abandons his idleness for a few moments as his fingers run over what part of the shackles he can reach, as well as the place on the wall they are secured. He does make an attempt to look around at it, although the way he is chained does prove to be more than a little problematic. Still, he tries his best, not forgetting to squint his eyes considering the poor lighting and how he should act given such circumstances. Unfortunately, the conditions are less than ideal and a minute or two later, he gives up. "There is little I can do without something that at least resembles a tool," he remarks softly, not wanting the guards to hear but not minding if his cellmates do so.
Etna watches curiously the blow dart gun, before her eyes trails off on the guards equipments.
Well, they sure are well equipped. I hope these are an exception and that only some of the guards have a signal whistle to call in reinforcement. One of them uses it, and we can say goodbye to our escape.
Keeping her voice down, Etna too comments the presence of 'Grumblejack' in Brandescar "If I think back to the motley crew we assembled in the Royal Court, I wouldn't be surprised if that thing's here for forgery of royal documents, or something similar." she says with a chuckle "But yes: if they made the effort to bring it here and not kill it on the spot, I think it has done something more elaborate than 'smashing little ones'."
Etna tilts her head at Tkaara's mention of abnormally bright torches "You thinks so? Those seemed very normal torches to me. Do you feel alright?"
Maybe what she said the other day really was true. Without her drugs, she even exchanges mundane torches for beacons! Is her illness that severe?
"An ogre. How curious. They were common enough in my homeland, but I did not think they lived on Talingarde, except perhaps in the reaches of the far north.* Something to keep in mind, but not immediately relevant, I am afraid."
He inhales deeply, a look of concentration on his face. "Photophobia can be caused by many maladies. You do not seem to be ill, Tkaara, apart from your congenital condition, but it is difficult to tell over the stink of that creature. If we get the chance, I can check your eyes for corneal abrasions.
Light! Oh gods, don't go! Hecate is surprised by the strength of despair she feels as the torches pass by, leaving her in darkness once again. She barely registers the number of guards, or their activities, numbly observing the large creature as it is felled by darts.
Tkaara's question almost passes her by. "What? I can't see a thing now the torches have gone!" There's a slight edge of panic to her voice. Hecate's greatest fear is being trapped without possibility of escape. It is slowly dawning on her that this may very well be the case.
The young woman tries to calm herself by pulling her fingers through her hair to straighten it - her normal response to stress; but to her dismay she can't reach: the manacles are hindering her movement too much. She twists her wrist frantically in the shackles, one way, then the other, then the other. She stops once she realises she has drawn blood; she can feel it trickling down her arm.
Grumblejack sluggishly moves around in the dark, the little 'uns poison is not as effective as they were led to believe. Oh me aching head. Lil 'uns darts zap Grumblejack's strength, make me weak, they will pay. Grumblejack will eat them and be strong Grumblejack again.
"Grumblejack weak, Grumblejack sleepy, Grumblejack be quiet, for now." he says in a low grunt.
"Calm yourself, Fraulein. Panicking will only play into their hands. We shall prevail. As for light... no, it is pointless. Whatever allows you to see you to see in this cell it is not light. Are you sure you are entirely human, Barrister?"
Etna furrows her brow at Tkaara "Pale light? I can see for about sixty feet or so, but that's only because of my 'heritage'. There isn't anything that's casting light, here."
Hecate is more grateful to Tkaara than she can say. What she needs, right now, is a challenging intellectual puzzle; and the pale-haired woman has provided it.
Panic temporarily subsiding, if not forgotten, she considers. "Well, as the good Doktor has said, there may be the option of nonhuman origin. It certainly sounds like you have darkvision; is everything in black and white, or can you see colour? If ancestry isn't the answer, then we have to fall back on supernatural matters, I think - unless you know of any conditions that might confer darkvision, Herr Doktor? I must admit, my knowledge of medicine is minimal - they didn't trust me with a scalpel... I'm certainly not going to pretend to be a medical expert. But, if we rule out ancestry, and we rule out natural disease, then we're left with the supernatural. Luckily for you, that's my area of expertise." The young woman sounds confident.
"I'll need to know more details. Can you tell me when and how your condition started?"
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Heritage? My parents are human. Their parents are human. All in my heritage are human as far back as I know. And, if this were not so, would this have occurred so late in my life? It thought that those with angel blood or devil blood usually showed such signs early in life. During puberty at the latest.
After this longish statement, Tkaara is once more wracked with a fit of coughs leaving her out of breath.
I . . . Perhaps . . . perhaps I could ask the guards for medicine. This suddenly causes the barrister to begin to cackle, which quickly declines into another bought of coughing. Yeh, like that would happen.
Felrin stirs more slowly than his cellmates. He had fought madly to keep from being branded, fearing that he would no longer be able to disguise himself, to blend in, with the mark of Branderscar upon him. In the end, he had to be beaten into unconsciousness for his jailers to hold him still enough to brand him. And much to the guards’ disappointment, Felrin did not even stir when the mark was seared into his skin, his devilish resistance to fire keeping it from causing him any real pain. This caused them to beat him more, in the hopes of getting a reaction, but Felrin lay inert and had to be dragged into the cell and held up to be chained with the others. Anyone watching him over the course of the next few hours, as he hung unconscious in his bonds, would note that the bony ridges on his body seem to be thickening, almost as if forming a protective carapace in response to the guards’ assaults.
Eventually stirring at the sounds of quiet conversation in the cell, Felrin says blearily, ”An ogre? Here? There’s an ogre in here with us?” He passes out again, but only for a few moments, and joins in the conversation about seeing in the dark. ”I’ve not studied this, but in my case what you say is true, Tkaara. I was a young man – really not much more than a boy – when I began to change. And one of the first things to change was my ability to see in the dark. It was a game between me and my brother for a time, with him testing how little light I’d need to see. We didn’t understand why I could see so well…”
Symon! he recalls, I saw Symon! He’s alive, and like me, and outside this prison. Dark Lord, thank you for keeping him alive and safe, and giving me the strength not to call out to him. I continue in your debt, Master.
Turning his attention back to the present, Felrin says, ”Forgive me for sleeping through our arrival here. Have you learned anything that might help us escape?” After a brief pause, during which he feels whether he can reach his special powers and considers how forthcoming to be, he offers, ”These manacles are sized for a large man, but I can make myself quite small and likely drop right out of them if I wish. And I am far from helpless even without a weapon. But I’d rather make it count, as I’m sure you all would.”
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Hecate is more grateful to Tkaara than she can say. What she needs, right now, is a challenging intellectual puzzle; and the pale-haired woman has provided it.
Panic temporarily subsiding, if not forgotten, she considers. "Well, as the good Doktor has said, there may be the option of nonhuman origin. It certainly sounds like you have darkvision; is everything in black and white, or can you see colour? If ancestry isn't the answer, then we have to fall back on supernatural matters, I think - unless you know of any conditions that might confer darkvision, Herr Doktor? I must admit, my knowledge of medicine is minimal - they didn't trust me with a scalpel... I'm certainly not going to pretend to be a medical expert. But, if we rule out ancestry, and we rule out natural disease, then we're left with the supernatural. Luckily for you, that's my area of expertise." The young woman sounds confident.
"I'll need to know more details. Can you tell me when and how your condition started?"
Tkaara scratches her head, her long fingers just able to reach the top of her head.
If it is hereditary, it is not something that I have ever heard of.She then looks over at Hecate to respond, but suddenly realizes that the shorter woman can see nothing.
What supernatural would cause this? I have never noticed it before. For the past year, I have had health problems. As you have seen, I discovered that any of a number of interesting medicines cure the sickness. However, most would not consider what I use as medicine to be a medicine. Shiver, harlot sweets, honeydust, silvertongue, opium. I have used them all. As you saw in the Royal Court, within minutes of using any of these, the sickness is gone.
As to when this started, I could not say exactly. Perhaps a year ago. First it was minor illness, but it did not take long before I was almost unable to function in court. This is when I began to use more and more regularly. Unfortunately, the cost of these cures is a bit on the steep side, requiring me to find alternative ways of funding these medicines.
A group of six guards, heavily armed and ready for trouble, come into the cell led by a fat well-dressed sergeant of the watch. Everyone recognizes Sergeant Tomas Blackerly. This was the man who held the brand that marked each of them. He laughed as their skin burned. He is also easily recognized because his skin has a scaly reptilian quality to it as if he is not fully human. Right now, though the sergeant seems a little dazed.
As the group makes their way over to your cell, the sergeant bangs on the cell roughly and points at the good doctor and says gruffly “You there! 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.”
Two of the guards enter the cell and using the set of iron keys unshackles the doctor from the chain, they double check to make sure his manacles are still secured good and place ankle shackles on his feet after he is free of the cells cuff chain. They lead him out the door of the cell and lock it behind them and prepare to take the doctor away.
Picture of Sergeant Tomas Blackerly
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Current Location: Branderscar Prison: Cellblock, Date: Oathday, Erastus 24th,(Summer) 4714 Time: 4:30 pm (Day:Zero)
Felrin notes the slightly dazed air around the sergeant and pays close attention to his movements and speech while the man is in the cell. He considers calling out, shouting...something. But it would likely only earn him another beating, and draw attention, something he has learned to avoid if at all possible.
A woman to see me? It can only be Talia! I would rather she not see me in such disarray, but... I imagine she is frightened. The least I can do is reassure her that, one way or another, all shall be well.
Doctor Wilken placidly goes along with the guards... for now.
Hecate purses her lips. She doesn't realise it, but she's about to make a - potentially serious - miscalculation. With the slightly obnoxious arrogance of the newly-qualified wizard, she decides that Tkaara's addiction is simply the result of her attempts to seek a remedy for the initial disease. Since she reasons that the addiction is not a magical matter, she dismisses it.
The young woman is about to ask more questions of Tkaara when they are interrupted by the sergeant. Hecate looks at him fearfully: she remembers the searing agony of being branded, but nothing after that.
In the light of the torches, Hecate carefully counts the number of guards, reviewing their equipment. It's a reasonable supposition that the sergeant brought as many as he could spare from other duties, given that he has to unlock and escort one of the prisoners. So, how many guards are there likely to be in total? Twice that number? Three times? More? Bear in mind that they have to work in shifts, if each shift is 8 hours then there are three shifts, so at least 18 guards in total. Hm. Too many unknowns, but it's a reasonable working estimate.*
Once they leave, her heart sinks again as the darkness returns. Is it just her imagination, or is it - no, it IS just her imagination, she decides firmly. Forcing herself to focus, Hecate looks at Felrin, or at least roughly where she remembers Felrin to be. "Welcome back, we're just gathering information for now. How small can you size yourself? Some sort of rat-shape might even be able to grab some keys off a guard, or at least slip through the bars and do some scouting." She hesitates. "Um, I'm not sure if this is the right time to mention it, but I can teleport through the manacles and the cell bars if I have to. I don't know how much use that would be right now, though."
She frowns slightly. She's not sure how to phrase the next question without sounding crass. "Erevan, Felrin - you've engaged in, you know, violence against people; can you make a guess as to how many guards you could, um, deal with at one time...?"
"Oh,you're awake Felrin. We found that they're keeping some drugs to put that ogre over there to-" Etna greets Felrin, before the guards interrupt her.
Etna follows with her eyes the guards as they unshackle and take Ottokar away.
I'm surprised that of all of us, it's the doctor that gets a visit. To get all the way here, it really must be someone that cares for him.
When the guards leave, Etna joins the other in the discussion of their method of escape, keeping her voice as low as possible. "So you can escape this manacles easily? Wonderful! If we could make a makeshift lockpick like the doctor suggested, we could all get out of this cell. Once that's done, we should find a fast method of transport, like horses or such, or even the wagon that brought us here. You know, for poetic justice." she adds with a chuckle
"We could make a diversion to clear the way, and then dart off. I could help with that, either with a well placed Silent Image or..." she grins. Even if probably no one can see that her hair have taken an unusually bright color, a faint sound of popping fire echoes in the cell "...there could be an accidental fire in the prison."
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Tkaara shakes her head as Etna begins to expand upon delusions of escape. When the flame haired woman finishes, Tkaara speaks quietly:
But, once out, how would you get away? We all know that this land is teeming with Mitran loyalists. And, we are not the easiest to hide. I could hide my white hair, and with the right medicine my cold. Hecate could fit in most places, especially if she changed her hair. Perhaps the Doctor and Erevan might be able to move through crowds for a while. But, where would we go? Find a ship for Cheliax or Varisia? We have no money to pay for passage.
Tkaara then looks to where the Doctor was taken:
However, I have a strange feeling about the Doctor's "visitor". Remember the old hag who cleaned us? She gave me some medicine and a note that read "You are not alone."
I am not usually a gambler, but in this case I would bet that this visitor is not a personal friend. Might be the old woman, or someone else. But, from what I know of Brandescar, visitors are not the norm.
Sense Motive:
Doctor Ottakar Wilken is escorted roughly away through the guardroom and all goes back dark in the cellblock.
You are led through the guardroom. It is a small guard room and the landing for the stairs from the first floor. It is lit by sconces holding torches. There are two doors – one leading to the cellblock which you just came through and the other connecting to a side room which currently stands open and looks like the place you are headed. Otherwise, this chamber is plain with little furnishings save for a small table and two chairs. You are led into the side room, this room is currently plain and featureless save for a single stout wooden table and four chairs.You are roughly shoved into a chair. There waiting for you is a hauntingly beautiful woman in an elegant black dress and soft silken veil. She looks as if she is headed to a funeral. Her hair is so platinum as to almost be white and her eyes are a vibrant almost unearthly green. She clearly has been weeping. But obviously this is not your wife.
"Oh, dearest,” proclaims the unfamiliar woman. “I’m so relieved you’re alive!” She quickly turns to Tomas. “Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity’s sake?”
Tomas goes blank for a bit and then quickly agrees. “Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.”
You watch as the Sergeant leaves the room....
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Current Location: Branderscar Prison: Cellblock, Date: Oathday, Erastus 24th,(Summer) 4714 Time: 4:35 pm (Day:Zero)
Hecate sighs quietly at Etna's enthusiastic 'planning' - perhaps she'd like the guards to hold the doors open for them all as they leave? But she made a deal not to make catty remarks at the prettier woman, and so she says only
"Etna, since you're next to me you're the closest one to Grumblejack - why not try and talk with him, get him on side while the guards are dealing with the good doctor?"
She is inclined to follow Tkaara's pessimism for the longer term (especially with the branded F they all bear), but for the time being the important part of the equation is "from" - the "to" can look after itself. There may be more unpleasant things than being burnt at the stake, but they aren't as immediately obvious, nor as imminent. "Tkaara, from what you've said it sounds like I'd need access to a library, as well as some divination cantrips that I don't have prepared right now; but if we get out of here, I will do what I can to find out what's afflicting you. All I can do now is speculate. Let's come up with a plan to get us all out of here, once we hear what the doctor's visitor has to offer."
Ottakar carefully takes note of everything he sees (and smells!) on the walk to the visiting room. After the unknown woman makes her remarks and the bulky sergeant leaves, he narrows his eyes at her. "Yes, it is good to see you as well... dearest," he says aloud. Then, in a whisper, "It would seem you have me at a disadvantage, probably several. So, out with it, what do you want? Why the ruse?"
As soon as the guards leave, Tiadora’s demeanor immediately changes. She drops all pretense of grief or concern. She is immediately all business.
“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."
“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.”
She then gives you the veil along with a small folded piece of paper.
"Give the folded paper to our resident who is in need of her medication my dearest. Tell her she now owes me twice. I will collect once we meet again."
She then turns as if to call the guards.
"It would appear I have little choice but to do as you say. The veil, what use is it?" he murmers.
He slips the items inside his shirt, tucking them into his waistband.
Felrin considers Hecate’s questions, then says, ”No, I cannot make myself small enough to fit through the bars, just the size of a goblin or halfling. But I think I could slip out of the manacles at that size without much trouble. And you can teleport? That must come in handy.” He goes quiet for a bit, pondering the newly thickened bony protrusions on his exposed skin, then says, ”As to how many guards I can handle, it’s hard to put a number to, especially since they seem to be pretty well armed. But I can change into other creatures, that bite and scratch – and I get stronger when I change. And I think this new change in me, these thicker bone ridges, might actually protect me in a fight. If I had to guess, I’d say I could take two or three, maybe more. And in case you haven’t guessed, I’m eager to hurt as many of them as I can, though I can restrain myself until the right moment.”
When Tkaara raises the question of what they might do if they escaped, Felrin reminds her of his own history. ”You’re asking how we would hide? I have hidden myself for longer than any of you have been alive, except Etna perhaps. Once clear of this place, I could disappear all over again, even if I have to carve this damned brand out of my arm to do so. But if we all get out together, I can help hide us all for a bit, having learned a thing or two. So I could blend right in, though the continuing changes in my body might make that impossible, eventually. Which means we need a longer-term plan for all of us – but we don’t need to come up with it here. As Hecate says, let’s find a way out of this place. Then we hide or blend in as we can, and we offer ourselves to the Dark Prince in exchange for our freedom.”
Tiadora seems impatient now to leave this place as she answers your final question... "That you and your friends will have to figure out my dearest, I am sure that all of you are more than capable of that menial task."
Her message delivered, she rises and the guards return. Immediately, her demeanor once more changes and she is again a perfect picture of grief. “No, I can’t bear to leave you!” She gives you a kiss on the cheek. The kiss is ice-cold and feels somehow alien and inhuman.
Tomas shakes his head. “I’m afraid it’s time, miss.”
She looks deep in Tomas’ eyes and says, “Thank you for letting me say good-bye. There’s no need to search my dearest. You are such a good friend for letting me see my dearest one more time.”
“Such a good friend,” Tomas repeats his voice almost mechanical. Then the watch sergeant seems to snap out of it and bows politely. “A pleasure, madam,” She leaves unveiled. Her eyes meet the doctors one last time and she briefly gives them a wicked smile. “Three days,” telepathically echoes in the doctors mind. "Meet us there in three days. Don’t disappoint me, dearest”. The visitation concluded, the guards prepare to bring you back to your cell.
"As far as the locks go," Erevan says, joining the conversation, "they are old, very old, and simple enough. Although difficult considering the way we are shackled, picking them can be done. I would need some sort of tool, however. And a bit of time as well, if I may say so." The idea of escape does indeed seem implausible to him, but at least the talk of it helps distract him for a while, if not lift his spirits somewhat. 'At least it keeps my mind occupied,' he thinks to himself briefly.
"And on the subject of... dealing with the guards if we do make it out of this dark and damp cell, Hecate," he continues, using the young woman's own word, "it depends, I suppose. Unarmed? Perhaps one and at considerable risk, I should think. Armed, however, is another matter. Perhaps two, three if I am feeling particularly optimistic... and lucky. Although I think that the good doctor, should he return, should also be included in your question; spectacles and gentle demeanor notwithstanding, I would wager that man is dangerous enough in his own right, and not only with a scalpel."
"As for what we do afterwards," he concludes with a soft chuckle, one a little on the mirthless side truth be told, "let us first break out of our chains and this cell, overpower a dozen or two of the guards and set fire to the place and then we will get to the part of disguises and ships, yes?"
Etna doesn't comment the others' diffidence toward their escape, giving only a soft smile.
It wasn't about optimism, or overconfidence. Their future escape was a simple fact. Failure wasn't even contemplated in Etna's mind: the only question that had to be asked was 'how', not 'if'.
It isn't even that I feel that my mother has to pay for what she has done. She will pay for what she has done, and that's a simple, unchangeable truth. And I swear on whoever deity or force that's hearing me now, it will be by my hand.
”I would agree about the locks, Erevan,” Felrin weighs in. ”I’m used to dealing with much finer machinery, getting these open should be easy, with even a simple tool. But we do not have a simple tool. So if we’re putting first things first, we might start there.”