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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 bond 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?
Welcome, minions. Feel free to mingle, bwa ha ha ha. Introduce yourself to your cellmates and see who has bragging rights for the grandest criminal scheme. You'll all end up on the chopping block anyway, to be welcomed by my servants.
Once you have fallen into silence once again, you all hear the heavy-booted footfalls that suggests a group of guards heading your way. Right enough, within a minute six well-armed guards who look ready for trouble, enter the cell led by a fat well-dressed sergeant. Each of you recognise him as Sergeant Thomas Blackerly. You all recognise him as the man who held the brand that marked each of you. He laughed as your skin burned. Right now though, the sergeant seems a little dazed.
He points at Hurak 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 guards step forward and unshackle the prisoners, hauling Hurak to his feet. The other four watch the rest of the prisoners for any sign of movement, ready to beat any kind of resistance with brutal punishment.
For the seemingly thousandth time Cain's massive arms flex against the chains. It was in his stubborn nature to keep trying, even if the results were the same. The manacles had cut deep grooves into his wrists, blood creating a dirty crust on his now-raw skin. His clothes were ragged, hanging from his huge nearly-seven-foot frame, and he was sitting in days of his own filth, but it took much more than a few bad turns to break Cain's spirit… or maybe he's just too dumb to know when he's beat.
And for the seemingly thousandth time Cain casts his fervent stare around this sorry lot, letting them linger on Price beside him before moving on. He'd sized them all up, weighed them all in his mind, and - like everyone else in this cock-roach-infested city - had decided this rag-tag bunch of piss-for-blood maggots weren't worth the sh!t they sat in. His eyes land on one big man across the cell , noting the thickness of the man's arms and chest, Well, that one looks like he could be good for a fight, at least. Cain holds the stare for a while, seeing if the man will match his gaze.
Turning back to Price, he's about to ask the same question he's been bugging her with for the past few days when the sound of the guards interrupts him.
Sergeant Blackerly. That name had instantly made Cain's "Torture To Death" list the second his brand touched Cain's arm. This is the second damn mark Mitra has put on my body, he thinks. At least I know who to repay for this one.
Cain sneers. A look made particularly nasty by the boot-heel-bloodied crack in his lips and nose. "Ah.. why the long face, Blackerly?" He leans forward, holding up his manacled wrists towards the nearest guard, "Pop these bad boys off me and I'll really give ya somethin' to cry about." You can all see a strong river of desperation running wild under his bravado.
For as long as they've been trapped in this miserable cell, Price has played the defeated, weak, and dispirited woman as well as she is able - eyes downcast, shoulders slightly slumped, cringing away from the guards feebly under the weight of her oppressively heavy chains, never raising her voice or a finger in opposition. It's a charade for the guards that she hopes will pay off. Price tries to imagine and emulate how a repentant sinner might look as she curses her own wretched soul and turns all her hopes to glorious Mitra for salvation... It's a big stretch for the Inquisitor of Asmodeus.
I should have studied acting; I can barely understand repentance - let alone imitate it!
Price knows the value of misdirection and deception - two diabolic 'virtues' if there ever were such a thing. Fools go head-to-head against a vastly stronger opponent... and Mitra's thralls held uncontested sway in Talingarde just as the guards did here. No, the game was to play on their assumptions, distract them, find their weak spots, and wait - wait for the right moment to butcher them. So Price plays the game, waits, and watches. But there is more than one game here. Prisoner versus Guard is one. Prisoner to Prisoner is another. When the guards' turn their backs and leave, her lowered eyes go from sad and soft to cold and hard... something for her fellow prisoners to consider. It wouldn't do for them to think her fearful, weak, or easily exploited.
No, that won't do at all.
After each meal or head-count, when the guards' steps die away in the distance, Price stretches her back to right her posture. Her body is slender and her movements economical. She examines their surroundings in detail. She starts with her manacles and chains and expands her view to take in everything in the dank cell. A rusted bolt head on a manacle could indicate a weakness that might be exploited at the right moment. She examines her fellow prisoners equally dispassionately... looking for a potential Mitran spy.
Whenever her sad-sack pantomime is finished, she gives Cain a nod which comes across as something between a friendly hello and a sign of respect.
Later, as Blackerly and his bully-boys approach, Price resumes her formerly dejected posture.
"What's wrong big boy?" Elis asks the muscular man across from her as he tugs on his shackles, "The chains got you down." *snicker*
Seeing as Cain pays her no attention she looks at the rest of these poor, poor souls. To her right the frail half-elf who probably committed some kind of juvenile prank of robbing the wrong person, and to her left another muscular man who seems to heed no one else in the room as if he was above us.
"You look like you could use a little company." she says to the man, "Maybe I could show you a thing or two, if you help me out of these chains that is. They are ruining my pretty wrists."
The two others in the room, one a woman , sitting across from her, who seems to be a little to bright to be in here and seems to sulk to much. The other a wiry little guy with tattoos adorning his body, resting against the wall across from the cell gate.
The sound of the guards interrupted her train of thought, which she hated. But she knew that this could be an opportunity as the guards stationed here keep ignoring her, which she hated more.
As the guards step into the room she attempts to identify the one with the weakest will, the one that will succumb to her silver tongue. They call for a man, Haruk, the one with the tattoos, apparently he has a women to see him.
As the guards leave Ellis calls out to the one she believes to be her man. "You young man, please help me. Can you loosen a poor maidens chains. I won't harm you, I was wrongly convicted for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Please, young man, can you help me?"
There was a time when Gideon was among those responsible for throwing forsaken heathens into the pit called Branderscar Prison, where they met their untimely ends. Now just years later, here he was, sitting in that very same place. The irony was not lost on the fallen paladin. Needless to say however, he was not amused. Nonetheless, he wears a calm, brazen expression, his eyes holding a determination that had yet to die.
Silent since his arrival, Gideon spends his time surveying the area, observing his... companions so to speak. He had absolutely no idea who any of them were, though he knew all too well that the fact that they were there meant they were just as damned as he was. For moments he keenly observes the giant of a man across the cell struggling against his chains. Gideon had made but one attempt to do the same, though it had ended in all-too-obvious failure. He meets the brute's eyes with his stony gaze, as though to assess his own determination, before turning away.
Gazing about the room, his eyes land one of the women in the cell , realizing that she did appear to be nearly as feeble as she made herself out to be before. Before he could investigate further however, the voice of another female catches his attention. Gideon merely glances at her with the same stare, as though he did not even comprehend the comment. That he was unamused would be an understatement, though his expression does not change in the slightest.
Hearing the sound of footsteps, Gideon looks out to see the source, his eyes meeting none other than Sergeant Blackerly himself. Gideon clenches his fists, relishing the opportunity to eviscerate the man. Needless to say, he held Cain's sentiment. But who in their right mind didn't? And yet, the reason for the sergeant's arrival catches him off guard. He remains still and silent, assessing the situation. Perhaps this was the opportunity he was waiting for.
Haruk, though dirty beyond belief, covered in sweat and grime, manages to sit in such a way that shows his feelings of innate superiority. His shirt, once a rather rich purple doublet, has fallen completely away, revealing a chest and arms covered in tattoos. They range from bizarre, arcane symbols, to horrific Infernal designs. His eyes are what one would call a distressingly black in color. He usually claimed such coloration was due to a disease, but the truth was far more sister: Such eyes marked his Hellish power, as well as his Infernal heritage.
When Blackery comes and has him hauled up, he stares at the man with those dead, black eyes. "A lovely lady, come to visit? Clearly Asmodeus favors me even as I rot in this forsaken prison. Do not look so shocked Sergeant, His reach goes far beyond what your simple mind could ever hope to understand."
Prior to the arrival of the guards, Corvis studied his cellmates with a casual but perceptive eye. "Let us see-" He mused aloud. "One fallen from grace, I'd judge. Did you serve Mitra before your fall, sir knight?" He directed this at the burly man to the far left of him (). "A young man with anger-management issues that's friends with a 'seamstress'? Judging by the long glances you've been giving each other the whole time you've been her, the blood I can smell on the pair of you, and that rather obvious attempt in hiding the birthmark on your palm, madam I'd say you were caught doing something rather wicked, yes?" He asked the obviously (to him) linked pair ().
He didn't wait for an answer as he continued his out-loud thinking before turning to the next victims of his scrutiny. "Based on your rather good looks and wicked tongue, I would suggest we have a viper in our midst. Get caught making regular folk do wicked things, hmm?" He said this to the woman on his left (). "Ah. If only we had met before being sent to Brandescar together. But mayhap a chance will come along for us to take leave of our hosts before our necks take leave of our bodies."
"Those tattoos give you away, my boy." Corvis addressed the last member of this little group. "Some manner of infernally-powered sorcerer would be my guess. Well, it's not really a guess, since those tattoos clearly mark you as belonging to some devilish creature, if my Infernal hasn't totally left me by now." He smiled at them all, but it never reached his eyes.
"My, my. Such august company for a simple consulting criminal like myself. As for my own perdicament, I assure you I didn't know the Genrian family would take exception to their son being killed in a duel. But that's what happens when you agree to duel with a man who doesn't play fair."
And then came the news of a visitor. Corvis was unsurprised that it wasn't for him. Career criminals like him didn't get visitors. "Enjoy your visit, old boy. Enjoy."
Price regards the half-elf coolly, shedding her meek persona briefly. "It seems a pity your rather discerning eye isn't paired with an equally discerning tongue."
She gives the barest hint of a smile and angles her eyes towards Cain. "But you are correct, we have been wicked. My companion was arrested for shepherding without a crook and I, alas, am guilty of public urination. Who knew the authorities would be so strict? As for my hand, you are mistaken. This was a childhood injury. Tom-boy that I was, I was hopping fences and sadly landed my hand on a set of rusty nails. It's resemblance to any symbol is entirely coincidental. If you speak of it again, I suggest you recall the facts that way."
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Guard 2, Sense Motive vs Bluff DC 18:
Guard 3, Sense Motive vs Bluff DC 18:
Guard 4, Sense Motive vs Bluff DC 18:
Guard 2, Will save vs Charm Hex:
"Of course, ma'am," one of the guards replies to Elis and he moves towards her shackles. However, one of his compatriots immediately hauls him back.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" the second guard yells, and then points at Elis, "Someone gag her!" One of the other guards pulls out a dirty looking piece of cloth and wraps it around Elis' mouth. As he stands back, he swings his club at Elis for the icing on the cake.
Guard 4, club damage, Elis:
As quickly as the chain was off, it is clamped back down in place and Hurak is up on his feet. All six guards back out of the cell slowly as Sergeant Blackerly manacles Hurak with normal manacles before pushing him out into the corridor.
"Move, scum," he orders, "It wouldn't do to keep your lady waiting." The Sergeant seems to ignore the rest of the jibes slung his way; odd as in the short time you've been in Branderscar you've never known the Sergeant to miss the chance to retort at his charges.
Hurak is roughly escorted to a meeting room at the end of the cell block and shoved into a chair. Awaiting him is a hauntingly beautiful woman dressed in an elegant black chair and a soft silken veil. Her hair is so platinum it almost seems white and her eyes are a vibrant, almost unearthly green. Clearly, she has been weeping.
“Oh, dearest,” proclaims the unfamiliar woman. “I’m so relieved you’re alive!” She quickly turns to Tomas. “Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity’s sake?”
Tomas goes blank for a bit and then quickly agrees. “Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.”
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.”
Cain waits for the sounds of boot-heels to quiet before barking a low, rumbling laugh at Price's assessment of their crimes. "Pissin' in public..." Then he pitches his voice to a low rumble, not really wanting the guard or guards to overhear as he turns to the know-it-all. "Anger management issues... I like that. And I see all those brains didn't keep you outta this place, smart guy." You don't detect any malice in his low voice.
Corvis bowed as best as he was able given his manacled state after the guards left. "Alas, while I have been gifted with quite a brain, I wasn't blessed with much in the way of social graces. Bastards are rarely taught such things." There is zero trace of bitterness in his voice at this comment. All in all, he seems to be quite jovial. "And it is hardly my fault if you are as transparent as fresh glass. Perhaps I could give you some acting lessons, hm?" He smiled the way one would imagine a shark doing so. "But come, we can be civil. As fellow criminals we can learn to like each other, I think. We only have the rest of our lives, after all."
Corvis turned when the hulking brute spoke up. "You're quite right there, old boy." He smiled that toothy grin at the burly man. "A spider tangled in it's own web, to be sure. Fortunately I still have something of a bite. Unlike the lady viper here, I know when to lie in wait."
He frowned for a moment, and then spoke again. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alexite Corvis. And unlike the 'boring seamstress' and her muscular friend, I am quite guilty. The price one pays for having poor dealings with the upper class, I'm afraid. I just dislike it when someone fails to pay a debt they owe me. Ah well."
Price tries and fails to look affronted. "Boring? Surely peeing in public earns me at least an 'odd' or 'scandalous'. You'd be surprised at how exciting seamstressing can be. Why there are several different stitch patterns alone! But you are correct, introductions are civil. I am Price, Miss Price."
"Cain."
*Indistinguishable muffled talk, with angrier sounding muffled talk towards Alexite*
Price regards the gagged woman. That gag doesn't help our cause and she seemed to make some headway with that one guard when she had her voice... That could be useful.
Price puts on her best harmless look and pitches her voice softly as she addresses the guard. "Excuse me, guard? I know we're pathetic prisoners and all... but does that girl really need a dirty rag stuffed in her mouth in her last hours of life? I think she's learned her lesson. Could you, for pity's sake, take that disgusting thing from her mouth? I promise she'll be quiet." Price tries to be doe-eyed. "Please, sir."
*Indistinguishable muffled babble directed towards Price* With what you could guess is somewhat of a smile on her face. She then shrugs her shoulders, or what she can with the manacles. She then continues to babble under her breath.
"Yes, Ms. Price, boring. Public urination is hardly exciting. But if you'd say, been caught slaughtering innocent people in the name of some dark being interesting in making contracts, then you would be interesting. Much more interesting than a 'seamstress' placed in the most infamous prison in the country for nothing more than public urination." He flashed that shark-smile at her. He knew full well how close to home he was hitting, and he enjoyed the game.
Corvis turned to silent warrior. "And your name, sir? We're all being rather polite here."
Cain looks over at Alexite, "Actually, one of us is bein' kind of a nosy, know-it-all jack-ass."
Haruk stares at Corvis with his black eyes "Congradulations, you figured out the obvous regarding my heritage, which is quite a feat considering that I currently have no desire to hide the truth." He flashes a devilish grin before continuing "As for why I'm here? That would depend, do you want the crime that acutally landed me here? Or the full list of vile actions that have me condemned to this wretched place?"
Haruk's face bursts into a grin of sheer joy at the sight of a woman he's never met nor seen before. "I can not believe you came to see me! He lies
When she has told her story, the first thing he asks is "Sounds interesting, but why are you delivering this message to me as opposed to one of the others, beyond the fact that I am better than them, of course".
Corvis only smiled as people were upset by his words.
Price waits for the guard's back to be turned before giving the other woman a whaddaya-gonna-do? shoulder shrug and an encouraging nod. Then her glance strays to the guard's back. She looks him up and down like she is sizing him for a suit... or a shroud.
She leans in towards Cain, indicating the guard with a tilt of her head, and says quietly, "Friendly wager... 1 Gold Sovereign... F-Flat. You in?"
Ellis looks like she is attempting to remove the rag from her mouth.
Corvis' words do not seem to faze Gideon at first, though they draw his gaze to the half-elf, whom he had not deemed worthy of his attention previously. It was as much as it took for him to decide that he did not like this fellow. His breakdown of everyone in the cell was rather... pretentious. He was the kind of man that would be considered "too smart for his own good." Not that any of them were in a particularly better position, considering their circumstances. Still, at least he had his wits about him.
"Gideon," he would answer aloud, finally breaking his silence. His voice was rugged and deep, though it carried a knightly air to it. After all, etiquette was a necessity when handling certain matters. He glances at the others once more, before addressing them all, his voice carrying an irritated edge. "You are all quite sociable, considering our circumstances. I was hoping to spend my last moments with some peace and quiet in this smelling pit. Is that so much to ask for?"
Letting the rhetorical question float, Gideon offers a sidelong glance at the remaining guard, admittedly curious about where the other prisoner had been taken. The fallen paladin was not truly resigned to die. No, not yet. There was work to be done.
If I could just get these damned manacles off...
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Tiadora shrugs in answer to Hurak's question. "Our friend has his reasons," is all she replies.
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 Hurak 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 Hurak's one last time and she briefly gives him a wicked smile.
“Three days,” telepathically echoes in Hurak’s mind. “Don’t disappoint me, dearest”. The visitation concluded, Hurak is taken back to his cell by a cadre of guards and shackled once more.
Once Hurak is back in his cell, he gets a chance to look at the veil closer.
She leans in towards Cain, indicating the guard with a tilt of her head, and says quietly, "Friendly wager... 1 Gold Sovereign... F-Flat. You in?"
Cain shakes his head, "No bet. I still owe you for the million other times you called it. Though I still say if I can't hear if you're hitting that pitch, it doesn't count." He looks over at the guard, "Shouldn't we wait to do that until we can reach him, though?"
When the cell door opens and the guards walk back in with Hurak, Cain sits up straight, bringing one hand as close to a mock-salute as he can. "At attention, everyone. It's Sargent Porkerly and his six piglets." In a quick move, his salute becomes a fist, middle finger extended.
Cain's agitation has continued to simmer. He takes yet another look at the chains connecting him and the wall before whispering to Price and whomever's on his other side.
"Here. Grab my forearm. When I pull down, pull down. Hard."
He gives the women a second to grab onto his meaty forearms before he lets his wrath build and yanks downward with all his strength.
Cain shakes his head, "No bet. I still owe you for the million other times you called it. Though I still say if I can't hear if you're hitting that pitch, it doesn't count." He looks over at the guard, "Shouldn't we wait to do that until we can reach him, though?"
Price offers a confused half-smile then chuckles briefly in understanding. "Wrong bet. One Sovereign says his spine will make an F-Flat when this wench..." indicating herself, "...snaps his chicken-neck. You can judge the tone for yourself."
"Here. Grab my forearm. When I pull down, pull down. Hard."
"Why not? The shrinking violet act isn't doing me much good."
Price locks dirty (but previously manicured) hands on Cain's arm, or the chain, or any other spot of purchase and pulls with a ferocious strength.
Ellis looks like she is attempting to remove the rag from her mouth.
Elis looks around, very displeased that she could not get this stupid gag out of her mouth. But oh well, she brought it upon herself, she does hold a grudge and the guard will surly find out the feeling once she escapes, if she can.
When the burly man asks for her assistance she looks at him with a "really" kind of expression, but shrugs and attempts to help.
With her failed attempt of reaching out to assist her cell mate Elis lets out a muffled scream, as if something had frightened her into the afterlife, and her body slumps down as if it was nothing but dead meat hanging by a rusted chain.
Haruk smiles pleasantly, "We all have our secrets. I don't suppose you can help me, uh i mean us, find our way to this meeting, huh?"
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Tiadora looks at Haruk for a moment, before shaking her head. "I've helped you as much as I can." she replies.
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Elis' theatrics attract the attention of the guard.
Guard, Sense Motive, scream:
Guard, Sense Motive, slump:
His eyebrows rise as he notices the slumped figure of Elis. Although he doesn't trust the scream, he also can't let the prisoners escape retribution for their crimes!
"Bob," he hollers down the prison, "Something's up with one of the prisoners! Get over here!"
The two guards open the cell door and Bob moves into the cell, club drawn, to prod at Elis. The other guard remains at the door, clutching his club fearfully.
Cain's muscles bulge and with a straining groan, the manacles burst forth out of the wall. ()
Bob and his fellow guard turn to meet the raving eyes of a homicidal maniac.
Round 1
Gideon Schrade:
Price:
Cain:
Elis:
Haruk:
Guards:
Initiative
Alexite Corvis
Cain
Guards
Elis
Gideon Schrade
Price
Haruk
<-Convey secret 'free me' message.
Alexite cursed under his breath as Cain broke free of his chains, and then flicked his eyes towards Cain's eyes and then his own chains.
c'monyoubigbastardfigureitOUT! Thesmartguyisthesafebet!
Under the pretext of trying to twist away from the hulking man, Alexite twisted his wrists, attempting to slip the shackles. But he wasn't holding his hopes up...
Think dammit. ThinkthinkTHINK!
At the sharp PIIIIIING of the chain coming loose, a manic, predatory grin splits Cain's face. "Oh, hell yah!" Cain's particular style of low cunning make two things immediately obvious.
This may be our only shot. And neither of these blokes can make it outta here or we're all screwed.
Ignoring the brainiac's message, he lunges forward, rolling to his feet as he closes on the unsuspecting guard at the door. He explodes in an upward motion, driving the manacles in a vicious upward strike at the guards chin with the force of over 200 pounds of pissed off muscle.