"The pleasure is mine, I assure you." Shalastar says seductively, in response to Jack's introduction. "But I too am intrigued by the visitor of our young friend here."
Tragen glances over at the Mordred's gift. "A pretty veil indeed. But how can it give us an opportunity to crush the guards and any others who stand in our way? These chains are quite solid."
Jack is getting giddy at the thought of getting out of this place, the thought of dying didn't really appeal to him and this mysterious patron, whoever she was, offered a small glimmer of hope, rousing up Jack's hunger.
"What did she say to you. Exactly." Jack emphasizes throgh gritted teeth, he got the feeling the skinny human was holding back on them.
Stop wasting time! I want it!
Anxiously rocking back and forth on her heels, Targi manages to ask, "Would you pass it to me? I know a considerable deal about fine goods and maybe I couldidentifythe..." she takes a breath while trying to steady her voice. "I could identify the embroidered designs and discern the veil's origins...and properties."
And wear it!
"Now, my dears, let's not be premature. Good things come to those who wait." Shalastar hides his own desire for the silken scarf behind equally silken words.
"Let's discuss this later. For now, we escape," the cleric said, a little annoyed at the irrelevant conversation in the room. These people were so worried about things that really didn't matter. "Anyone to know how to use these?"
Mordred lifted his head, biting into the corner of the patch with lock picks.
Jack looks on in rapt attention as the human starts tearin the veil appart.
"When you have finished those delicate tongue and teeth maneuvers..." Shalastar allows himself a brief shiver. "Perhaps you will tell us your name. I think you are the only one who has yet to do so."
Tragen stops his brooding, raising an eyebrow as he watches the man begin to chew on the veil.
Suddenly Kyrul comes out of his stupor. "If none of you can pick the lock let me try it."
When Mordred tears off the patch, it magically turns into a fine set of lockpicks in his mouth!
He moves closer to Kyrul so that the half-elf can reach for them.
Treize, at this point, caught a glimpse of the lockpicks and snorted as they were passed towards Kyrul, "oh now I am just inspired with confidence."
Treize decided that at this point, there was no reason to reveal that he too could use lockpicks, quite competently in fact. He knew nothing of these prisoners, and while he begrudgingly admitted they had to work together to escape, the less he revealed of himself in the process the better. Loose lips sink ships, and all that.
Even though Kyrul just asked for the lockpicks he was not expecting them to be handed over. He almost drops them.
Once they are in hand he tries to undo his chains.
disable device:
As Kyrul nearly loses the lockpicks and then hastily attempts to free himself, the lockpicks make conspicuous clanking noises against the manacles, to which the guards at the door react: "Hey Jo, what do you think I just heard?" - "Dunno. Think it might be a rat?" - "I think you should stop trying to cover up your farts mate".
The guards are none the wiser, but the manacles are still locked.
The fool has all the grace of an intoxicated Dwarf, Treize thought to himself, cringing every time the pick clanged against the metal, and at this rate, he'll blow our best chance at getting out of here.
"Well...gentlemen...if you were free, what would you be doing right now?" Treize said in a rather...obnoxiously loud fashion. He hoped that the rest of them would pick up that the conversation would help drown out the sound of the lock picking.
"Taking a bath!" Freezing at first Jack is quick to pick up on Treize's motive. Giving a snort he watches the door, waiting a moment too see if the guards come to investigate before continuing.
"After that, a meal. A decent one. Roast duck, bloody, thick gravy and some beer. That's what I need right now, a beer.."
"Get my wife back...," Tragen says, his eyes shadowed. Clenching his fists, he continued, "and destroy any who would keep her from me."
With a soft cough from the dust - the recent movement in the room had stirred some up - Mordred nodded to Jack in agreement, saying, "A bath and a good meal sounds about right."
Though, if I hadn't been caught in the first place...
The cleric's thoughts drifted to the corpse he had been caught with. The memories of tracing the runes in lines of stray animal blood, the little bit of onyx he had found he knew was required for the spell to work, his prayer sessions beforehand, begging Zyphus for the power he didn't quite yet possess, all of it drifted through his head. He had never worked so hard for anything in his life, but the idea of a mindless, tireless, completely loyal servant obeying his every whim gave him the motivation.
When he used to think of creating undead, he envisioned a handful of them, always modeled after those he used to know, such as his father, staring blankly at him as he ordered them to handle any work he might want done.
Now, however, Mordred saw an army. He saw every type of creature that ever dared to die while he walked the earth, spanning a vast field that smelled of death, the night sky infused with a tint of red, an omen of the bloodshed to come. Before the army laid Talingarde, small in comparison and completely unprepared for what was to come. At the center of the mass of undead sat Mordred on an elegant throne of bone, and the first time since his trial, he saw himself alive while commanding this army.
Licking his lips in anticipation as he came out of his daydream, the human glanced at everyone in the room. They were necessary to escape here, and they might be even more useful in overthrowing the city. Zyphus surely arranged this. He decided his name now mattered.
"By the way, my name's Mordred Ozio. Pleasure to meet you all." He flashed a charming smile.
"Who are you calling a — oh..." Targi begins before realizing that there might be something more to the question. "I'm going to get new clothes. These ones are awful, and I can only hope that any afterlife offers a finer cut than what I've been wrapped in here."
The fool has all the grace of an intoxicated Dwarf, Treize thought to himself, cringing every time the pick clanged against the metal, and at this rate, he'll blow our best chance at getting out of here.
"Well...gentlemen...if you were free, what would you be doing right now?" Treize said in a rather...obnoxiously loud fashion. He hoped that the rest of them would pick up that the conversation would help drown out the sound of the lock picking.
** spoiler omitted ** Treize hisses to Kyrul while the others (presumably) giving their accounts of what they would be doing or quibbling over Treize's use of the word gentlemen despite their being females present.
Surprised that anyone is even questioning his expertise Kyrul responds:
Eo nyeymlaa E nleam amirilan E ils weelv. Aey quylaan naaty aelamaela anilcnelv lae anira vyilmwla wel'an nyesa eelam irama.
disable device:
"If I were not here right now...I'd likely be slitting the throats of the morons that landed me here," Treize said, adding his two cps to the conversation he started. And the moment he got out of here, he intended to make that a prority. Vegeance is a dish best served drowing in the blood of one's enemies.
Kyrul looks at Treize and in common says. "I have this."
Kyrul's eyes seem to be staring into a far away place as he focuses on the task at hand.
Taking 20 for disable device.
"Hrrmm? Yes." Jack's expression grows darker and his voice drops a notch at Treize's mention of slitting throats. "Got a couple of those I'd like to slit myself." 'The judge, all four of the bailifs, the pissant noble who ran and squealed on me, that fat sergeant on the other side of this door and all his small-minded lackeys to start with..'
Shifting uncomfortably Jack feels his hunger stirring, he was hungry, he needed food, drink, a smoke, anything to take the edge off. Looking to his side he smells the other prisoners all to keenly, with their thick, rich, nourishing blood flowing in their veins.
Time seems to have slowed to a crawl, infused with the hope to taste freedom and life itself again. The rest of the inmates watch in painful suspense as Kyrul meticulously searches for the right position and angle of the lockpicks, hampered by the very manacles he strives to remove.
After what feels like an eternity in the windowless chamber, the manacles on Kyrul's hands finally click open, making your hearts jump with anticipation.
Mordred exhaled slowly. The excitable emotions he felt were unusual for him, even before his current predicament, so keeping them under controlled proved difficult. For instance, he didn't even realize he had been holding his breath.
The cleric whispered to Kyrul, "Me next! I can figure out what else this thing can do," holding up the veil as much as he could while shackled.
Treize clenched his fists upon Kyrul's success, visibly irked that the man had succeeded. A part of the Elf had rather hoped the half-breed would fail so that Treize would have to step in and be the...hero...of the situation. Instead, that glory would now go to Kyrul; and that was frustrating to Treize. If anyone deserved to be the hero here, it was Treize.
It also left Treize in the rather sickening position of having to beg to be freed which was a truly loathsome concept. Though, if the others were to have any hope of escape, they would be wise to take Treize with them. He was a man with a very particular set of talents that would likely come in handy during any escape: a brilliant mind, deft hands, and his more than adequate training in the way of the blade.
"I also have the ability to coax magical power out of enchanted items, if you would like me to try." Shalastar holds his wrists forward. "Ah, and those of us who are freed, lets see if we can keep our chains, they might be... useful later."
Tragen turns to watch as the chains fall from Kyrul's wrists. Perhaps we will be together again in this life rather than the next, my love. And together we will destroy the rest of the families.
He looks down at his chains and manacles. "Yes. Perhaps they could be used as a weapon. At least until we aquire something more... devastating."
Once Kyrul is free he helps Mordred and then Treize. If no guards come he frees Shalastar, and continues until everyone is free.
Now familiar with the lock's inner workings, Kyrul does his job on the other locks with relative ease. However he is not to enjoy the fruits of his success unspoilt. The abrupt silence which replaced the agitated talking as soon as Kyrul unlocked his chains has caught the guard's attention. As Mordred and Treize rub their free hands, you hear the guard saying "What in Mitra's name are you rascals up to again? Why wouldn't you lot just quietly wait for your gallows."
The key turns in the lock and a red-faced guard comes in, club out and ready for trouble, but without displaying undue enthusiasm. He surveys the cell, checking that everything is in order.
Treize visibly rolled his eyes at the appearance of the guard in the cell. Another senseless delay, Treize thought as he made the best effort he could to appear as helpless as the guard expected him to be. But this does present an opportunity, if the others are quick enough to pick up on it, Treize thought.
"Why yes, of course," Treize replied to the guard, "we who are about to die salute you in doing your due diligence of keeping us sufficiently bored before putting us to death." Treize's tone was, of course, dripping in sarcasm.
Mordred, only having been freed for a matter of seconds, sighed a little too loudly as he was forced to act as if he was still chained up by placing his shackles loosely on himself, stuffing the veil back into his mouth. He frowned at the guard, his expression a mix of anger and tiredness.
"Hey!" Jack calls out, grining at the guard as he obiously quite fearfully enters the cell, trying to shift his attention to himself and away from those free of their shackles. "Why the hassle man? It's not like we're going anywhere, eh? Relax and let us enjoy ourselves as little as we can, just piss off! Ok?"
"Or feel free to join us, as you like. I'm sure I have a few tricks that you haven't seen yet."
Shalastar's voice again drops into the seductive range.
(+2 if sexually attracted)
1d20+1
Now familiar with the lock's inner workings, Kyrul does his job on the other locks with relative ease. However he is not to enjoy the fruits of his success unspoilt. The abrupt silence which replaced the agitated talking as soon as Kyrul unlocked his chains has caught the guard's attention. As Mordred and Treize rub their free hands, you hear the guard saying "What in Mitra's name are you rascals up to again? Why wouldn't you lot just quietly wait for your gallows."
The key turns in the lock and a red-faced guard comes in, club out and ready for trouble, but without displaying undue enthusiasm. He surveys the cell, checking that everything is in order.
1d20+1
I don't know if that would have made a difference or not.
The guard is eager to assume that the prisoners are still chained and manacled.
He angrily responds to Jack: "You think you're here to enjoy yourself, scum? I'm going to leave you without water for three days, so when the hooded man comes for you you'll be begging him to end your suffering."
The other guard's head pops into the doorway, but after quickly checking that the prisoners are non-violent, disappears.
The first guard is about to leave when Shalastar's words make him turn around. He hefts his club.
"I'll show you a trick you haven't seen, you hagspawn f**$&!."
With a few rapid steps he approaches Shalastar and hits him squarely between the legs with the club.
Shalastar grits his teeth against the agonizing beauty he had learned to appreciate from years of such torture at the hands of his mistress and her other followers.
"It seems you might have talons after all. And such a fine outstanding representative of the goodness and purity of Mitra. I will be sure to commend your aim to my executioner. Perhaps you will be sainted for such violent retributions."
(+1 if attracted)
As the guard sees Shalastar embracing the pain, his eyes widen and he makes the holy gestures of Mitra as if wanting to exorcise him.
"Fiend... How does the earth bear ones such as you... Mitra have mercy..."
He steps back, dropping his bravado and letting his real emotions show through. He is scared of you. He fears you, as if the power of your evil could somehow reach out to his soul even through the bars. And yet, for Shalastar's filthy words and ragged looks, there was something about him... Something that passed through the club the moment it touched his flesh... That made unspeakable images begin forming in his mind, raising urges he never knew he had.
To the guard:
"You know he will make you pay for that. It might be a good idea to apologize."
Jack jerks at his chains sharply, making them rattle loudly to draw the guards attention again, growing frustrated and a bit eager to see the back off him he tries to hide his emotions. 'Just f@#+ off already.'
"No water!?" he exclaims and leans forward as far as he can go in his chains. Catching the guards glance he bares his prolonged cainines and hisses at him in what he hopes sounds vampire-ish. "To hells with your water! Come here! I want your blood!"
It was about this point that Treize burst out laughing. Not his usual half-hearted and oh-so insulting snickering, but a full-on hearty laugh. These people are insane, the lot of them! Treize thought as he continued laughing at the unfolding scene before him.
It was...odd to laugh like this, for Treize anyway. He was always one to control his emotions; keep up a permanent poker face. But now, he saw no reason to be anything but amused.
A manacled masochistic fetchling was making less than subtle passes at the guard who'd just delivered him a...well...dirty blow with a club; a naive half-breed who apparently dreams of martyring himself for some delusional purpose or other; and a bound vampire who just tried to goad the armed guard into coming close enough to get his throat ripped out.
We who are about to die indeed, the Elf smiled, but enough is enough and I am weary of this.
Mordred watched the events in the room carefully, offering expressions where appropriate, though he really held little interest in what was being said, except when Shalastar seemed to relish in the blow that would make the cleric himself vomit, his recoiling and look of surprise and a bit of revulsion towards the fetchling was genuine. Throughout it all, however, he kept his mouth closed and his arms placed in the unlocked shackles.
For the love of Zyphus, either leave or provoke one of these people to attack you, Mordred thought at the guard. He was unwilling to strike the first blow, but the urge to escape the prison was so strong that he was itching for a catalyst. He knew that the guard being in here was a good opportunity, as the door was open, but there were still so many shackled, it wasn't quite the ideal chance.
Herself awed by Shalastar's fortitude and sheer guts, Targi stands silent but ready to follow another's lead in taking action.
A bit more power and I could dissolve these chains...
The guard, utterly distressed by your demeanor, only mutters "bloody elves and vampires and hags and whatnot, the magistrate can't come to put you to Hell soon enough!" as he takes a few steps back, then turns around and composes himself somewhat before exiting the cell.
Jack stares blankly after the guard, remaining silent as he walks away.
It was about this point that Treize burst out laughing. Not his usual half-hearted and oh-so insulting snickering, but a full-on hearty laugh. These people are insane, the lot of them! Treize thought as he continued laughing at the unfolding scene before him.
It was...odd to laugh like this, for Treize anyway. He was always one to control his emotions; keep up a permanent poker face. But now, he saw no reason to be anything but amused.
A manacled masochistic fetchling was making less than subtle passes at the guard who'd just delivered him a...well...dirty blow with a club; a naive half-breed who apparently dreams of martyring himself for some delusional purpose or other; and a bound vampire who just tried to goad the armed guard into coming close enough to get his throat ripped out.
Treize grinned as the guard turned his back on the prisoners. He'd been expecting the guard to harass either himself, or Kyrul...but leaving himself wide open in the middle of the cell?
And with the promise of Kyrul's support, Treize did what he does best. He only wished he had his trusty blade in his hand, but beggars can't be choosers, as it were.
[spoiler=In Elven]"Stupid guards, if they knew we would be released from this place by tomorrow. They would be better off moving us to another prison. I might come back just to visit the head guard. I owe him."[/spoilers]