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 judgement. 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?
Blurry haze greets Alicia as she slowly opens her eyes, shaking off the cobwebs of an exhaustion-induced sleep. A stinging pain brings a slow turn of the head, her vision clearing to regard the 'F' burned into her left arm. Fear and anger war within her at her treatment, at the approaching time of her fate.
She flexes her muscles, biceps tightening as she tests the strength of the manacles binding her to the wall. Not a bit of give. Regardless, she'd have to free her fellows, then shamble down the hall in a line of chained feet, all without weapons. Hopeless.
Withering away in the salt mines, tortured by holy men (she was well aware of what awaited the poor fools chosen for this), or death by various means awaited her companions. For her, a quick drop of the headsman's axe for her attempted killing of a minor noble she was told to shut up. Alicia chuckles dryly, the sound rasping from her dehydrated throat as she contemplated the helplessness of her situation. Regarding her fellow prisoners, she feels her first moments of despair. She would die, and soon.
Alicia cocks her head to the side to regard the tall, sick-looking man who just spoke. This one will joke himself to the grave. Not that it mattered. Death awaited them all, whether they met it bravely, comically, or curled up into sad little balls, having to be dragged out to enjoy the last justice of Talingarde.
Dehydration has lent her already fit physique more edge, the lines where her muscles converge stand out sharply. Where her tattered shirt ends, one can see the sheath of muscle covered her stomach, and highly defined calf muscles peek out the bottom of her leggings.
With interest Alicia notes that the man's eyes nearly match her own, although the rest of them is almost opposite. Icy blue eyes. Killers' eyes. She tries to shake her mane of light blond hair out of her eyes, and only manages to make it look more unkempt. Her eyes start tearing up in frustration. All her promise, to meet such an ignoble end!
The darkness began to fade away as Malendia regained consciousness. Looking around at her...associates, she noticed the stiffness from the beatings the guards had given her. Amateurs, the Tribe I slaughtered did better than this.
With a cough, she answered the man, "It would seem so." The Witch then looked at her restraints. "I don't suppose anyone here is good with locks?"
Struggling to break free, and failing, brings the guards just outside the cell. Seeing that you are still in place they proceed to enter the cell and give you a few rounds of 'punch-the-monster-in-the-face.' One of their favorite games.
Nameless Guard #1: "One." the guard sneers as his fist rains a blow across the ugliest felon to see Branderscar. "Two." he follows up with a punch to Sykes midsection. "Three." He finishes with a near knockout blow to the left temple.
Guard #1: "...Three more days freak. Are you in a hurry to die? Keep shaking the chains and I'll help that happen."
He looks to the other prisoners to make sure they are well secured then confidently slams the door shut with a laugh to his fellow guards.
Guard #1: "Think I broke the skin on my hand on Freak-O's face."
Guard #2: "I think you made him look more attractive."
Guard #1: "Doubtful."
Guard #2: "Shame to waste the pretty ones though-" His thought and conversation wanders as his eyes leer a little to long on the females of the group.
Guard #1: "Those donkey rats? You need a real girlfriend. Besides they'll be gone in three days anyway."
Guard #2: "I only need 3 minutes."
The guards laughter fills the jail as they re-lock the cell.
The guards keep a close eye on the prisoners while the gate was opened, but not so much now that it's shut. They seem to assume all's good and pay little attention to their guests unless they are loud again.
"Let that one try something. I've fought off a pack of drunken orcs, one guard's nothing." Malendia said after the guards left.
The sounds of punches and laughter stirred Aramil from his sleep. He slowly opens his eyes, in time to see the final punch landing to the prisoner's face.
Sigh... Another fine day at Branderscar...
He lifts himself to a standing position, facing the rest of the prisoners, observing them for some time, noticing the fresh bruises on the dhampir, but remains silent.
Well at least the scars didn't make him any uglier.
He feels out the chains binding him, at the same time observing the cell and the surroundings, trying to calm his mind enough for his keen senses to give him an accurate vision of his situation.
Desperation almost made her offer herself to the second guard. Perhaps in that bit of time while he had his way she could somehow figure out a plan of escape, dispatch the brute and worm her way out of this hell. Pride and a sense of despair halt her, as that plan would only ensure humiliation before her death.
Alicia smirks at the two other wakeful prisoners, their strong words wasted on the walls of their cell. Briefly she contemplated amusing herself by shaking her chains, as the guards would likely think the man had been trying to escape again and beat him more thoroughly, but even this thought is thrown away like refuse. No sense in making new enemies now. These fellows were the last company she would have.
Tenoch remained silent as he listened to the other prisoners converse. A smirk flitted across his face as the guards beat the one who had attempted to pull free from his shackles. He looks over at the man. "Indeed," he says. "They do not seem to be well-practiced in cruelty. I am sure they can be trained, however."
He glances around at the others and nods at them, although his body moves slightly as if he were about to give a bow, but stopping himself before his chains rattled. "So it seems that we are all to depart from this place in some form or another in the next few days. I'd suggest that we to make such an exit on our own terms, but I hear Branderscar prison is the best of the best at holding the worst of the worst," he says. Glancing towards where the guards had left, he continues. "Although I am unsure as to the difference between 'best' and 'worst' having seen our captors."
She returns the elf-blood's nod with an icy stare, the smirk still on her face. It almost seemed as though her fellow captives wanted more merciless jailers. Maybe the pain would sharpen their senses, give them one last adrenaline rush before they met whatever fate they had earned.
She deigns to respond at last, the words croaking out of her parched throat. "Best or worst, it makes no difference. It merely has to be adequate to hold us, which it certainly is. No weapons, no defenses, chained together. Half-starved, half-dehydrated, weak. No hope of escape."
Aramil listens to his cellmates conversation, still in a somewhat focused state, eyes still closed.
"Yes quite a fine establishment they have here. Fine manner and courtesy from their employees indeed... What better place to await death in, than a rat-infested, sunless, damp stink hole?"
He shifts his position somewhat, his face forming into a slight grin.
"I'm sure you gentlemen share my sentiments about our generous hosts? Perhaps we should thank them appropriately for the gracious hospitality they provided us, hmm?
The massive gates stood ajar, but somehow she knew that was not enough. There was an army within those walls, its soldiers eager to march, to leave naught but fire and blood in their wake, but the unbarred portal held them back.
Throw open the gates, their voices cried as one, or perhaps it was only a single voice speaking with a million tongues. Revenge shall be yours, but first you must throw open the gates.
She watched herself reach out toward the doors, mighty wooden barricades studded with blackened iron standing hundreds of feet tall, then recoiled as her left arm flared in pain. Looking down, she saw the mark, a runic "F" glowing white-hot just below her wrist. Her vision swam and the world faded away.
Adria opened her eyes, the scent of burning flesh clinging to her nostrils. She was slumped against the back wall of a cell, her aching body clothed in filthy rags and manacled to the floor by both wrists and ankles. She remembered now: the long march through the Talirean Heartlands, the branding, the beatings - one or two of the guards had taken particular pleasure in tormenting an accused witch.
Instinctively, she reached out, trying to touch the mind of her familiar, but received no response. Havros was not nearby - disappointing, but not unsurprising. No serpent, even one so clever as he, could be expected to keep up with a prisoner escort on horseback.
Adria made a cursory effort to test her chains. Solid. More than enough to hold her, though that would not have required much.
She sighed heavily, then took a moment to survey her surroundings more closely, particularly her fellow condemned. A few of them seemed to be having a conversation.
"How long has it been?" Adria asked with a scratchy voice, suddenly realizing her throat was parched. "I seem to have blacked out at some point..."
Alicia gives a throaty chuckle at the elf's words, her normally rich deep voice scratchy from her imprisonment. "Perhaps you have not noticed, but we are hardly in a position to thank them as you imply. Make your threats as you will, just say them loud enough so they know the speaker, if you please."
She turns towards the newest arrival to consciousness. "Who knows? More importantly, how much time is left? The answer to that is three days." This one would burn, a much more horrific death than Alicia would endure. For that she was grateful, at least.
Alaric 'wakes' from his feigned unconsciousness, having heard most of the conversations of his cell-mates. He was glad he avoided the brutality of the guards, not needing any more damage than the brand and rough treatment had already done.
The king's personal physician's brat had been mine! If it weren't for the interference of a traitor to the cause of Asmodeus and a few tough guards, I'd have been away with my prisoner and the doctor would have been mine to control. Damn them all anyway.
He chuckles aloud as he sputters awake, the laughter for his own thoughts... of course they were all damned... Mitra wouldn't be able to protect them forever. Others would come (and go) in service to the one true and most powerful Asmodeus, and they would in time prevail.
He turns his baleful gaze on his cell-mates, examining each in turn. Three women, three men, including himself... though in truth not all were 'men'... elves, half elves, something even less human... what difference would it all make in three days time? His own eyes glow a baleful red in the darkness of the cell, and his ruddy colored skin and fanged teeth belie his own inhumanity... not to mention the tail.
Not concerned with the niceties of human society, he doesn't greet the others or introduce himself. He simply spends a moment listening for the guards then sighs softly. No time like the present. He makes no attempt to break his chains or manacles, having listened and heard what response that brought already. He simply changes his form to that of a gnome and tries to slip out of the manacles and leg chains, using his new small size to do so as quietly as possible.
When he is done, if successful, he resumes his previous form and does his best to make it look like he's still chained.
If any of the others start to comment on his attempt, he hisses softly to warn them to silence.
"In three days time most of us are going to lose our heads, but you are going to suffer a worst fate Miss Witch. If you'd like I could make your end quick, if you decide before the end of the third day that the flames are not for you." As he talks he talks there is no eagerness or joy in voice, only a similar forlornness and grim content that every inch if the building exuded.
"To whom are you referring? The lady over there or me? We are both witches." Malendia asked Sykes. Turning to Adria, she bowed her head, "Well met sister. Though I wish our meeting were under better circumstances."
"And how would you intend to do that chained to the wall?" The Half-Elf asked snidely.
Alicia's keen eyes note the form-shifting of the last of the group to wake. She says nothing of the incident, although a ray of hope starts to crack through the despair. If the man was able to incapacitate the guards, she might be able to muscle her way out of the manacles.
The blond hair shifts as she passes her gaze to the Half-Elf and then to the Dhampir, curiosity and amusement warring for a place on her face. A lady's man, and chivalrous, as well. That dry chuckle sounds again.
"Well, those would certainly do the trick, but unless you can spit them an incredible distance, we are still too far for your 'mercy.'"
Her mouth hangs open for a moment at the scene, then she starts to laugh quietly, a deep, throaty sound that might actually be appealing without the scratchiness and in another setting. A coughing fit wracks her, muscles clenching into finely tuned lines as she convulses, but she continues to laugh, tears coming to the corners of her icy orbs.
"My hero." She grins at the Dhampir. "Instead, why don't you have off your limbs, and station yourself by the door. You can gnaw at the ankles of the guards, chew them down to size." Another minor cough seizes her, but she still grins, the hard muscles of her stomach tightening with each spasm.
Tenoch snorts. "That's the spirit! Let us tear ourselves limb from limb so that we may gnaw upon their flesh!" he says with a smile. "It is unfortunate that their boots would likely prevent my teeth from doing any harm. At least in this form."
"Now I could, I suppose, call up some various minor critters to accost them, but it would not get us out of these chains and thus, ultimately, lead us into defeat. Even if we could only get one of us free of them," he finishes with a silent nod towards the shapeshifter. "it would likely be insufficient."
He simply changes his form to that of a gnome and tries to slip out of the manacles and leg chains, using his new small size to do so as quietly as possible.
When he is done, if successful, he resumes his previous form and does his best to make it look like he's still chained.
[dice=bluff to make it look like he's still chained]1d20-2
If any of the...
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. Every PC recognizes Sergeant Tomas Blackerly. This was the man who held the brand that marked each of them. He laughed as their skin burned.
Right now, though the sergeant seems a little dazed. A successful Sense Motive skill check (DC 25) reveals that the sergeant is under the effect of some enchantment.
Sgt. Thomas Blackerly: "“You there! That’s the scum! Thomas points to Tenoch. 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.”
Six armed guards enter the cell.
Her head cocks to the side, curiosity splayed across her face as the hated sergeant waltzes in. A visitor? How fortunate for her fellow. Maybe one more tumble in the hay before his final hurrah, eh? More likely he was to be 'questioned' before their executions.
She remains still and silent, but regards the guards calmly, eyes locking with any of the guards that care to look, promising death if she gets but a chance to deliver it.
A visitor? Here? How... interesting... Tenoch smiles at the Sergeant, giving as much of a mocking bow as he could to the man. "Isn't it obvious, sir? I warrant the fine ladies due to certain skills that... well... if you don't know, you'll never get it. But very well," he said, moving his wrists forward so he could be unshackled, "lead on. The poor lady must be frought with grief at my impending demise."
A visitor here? Surprising, but perhaps a ray of light for at least one of us. Too many guards for me to take on on my own... I'll have to bide my time. He says nothing aloud though and just tries his best to look downcast and sullen until the guards leave.
Malendia as well was dumbstruck at the turn of events. Despite the circumstances, she remained vigilant of any guards that thought to try anything. First one to come near me, is going to lose something.
A visitor here? Surprising, but perhaps a ray of light for at least one of us. Too many guards for me to take on on my own... I'll have to bide my time. He says nothing aloud though and just tries his best to look downcast and sullen until the guards leave.
Tenoch is escorted roughly to a meeting room down the hall (outside of the cell area) and shoved into a chair. There waiting for them 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.
Female: “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.
Thomas:“Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.”
Somehow this woman clearly has power over this guard.
The guard leaves Tenoch alone with this lady.
As soon as the guards leave, her demeanor immediately changes. She drops all pretense of grief or concern. She is immediately all business.
Tiadora: “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.”
Seeing that his ruse remained undetected while the guards were there, Alaric considers his options... clearly I could attempt to escape, but there are far more than 2 guards close by now and I would likely not succeed. I will wait a bit longer to see what happens.
He listens carefully for sounds of guards.
Seeing that his ruse remained undetected while the guards were there, Alaric considers his options... clearly I could attempt to escape, but there are far more than 2 guards close by now and I would likely not succeed. I will wait a bit longer to see what happens.
He listens carefully for sounds of guards.
[dice=perception]1d20+8
Of the six guards, 2 are still stationed inside the cell area. They seem to be all business at the moment and while not paying 100% attention to each 'guest' they are not engaged in small talk or completely oblivious either.
The sounds of punches and laughter stirred Aramil from his sleep. He slowly opens his eyes, in time to see the final punch landing to the prisoner's face.
Sigh... Another fine day at Branderscar...
He lifts himself to a standing position, facing the rest of the prisoners, observing them for some time, noticing the fresh bruises on the dhampir, but remains silent.
Well at least the scars didn't make him any uglier.
He feels out the chains binding him, at the same time observing the cell and the surroundings, trying to calm his mind enough for his keen senses to give him an accurate vision of his situation.
[dice=Perception]1d20+7
"Ahh, my dear, you would be one that I would never forget," Tenoch says, responding with his own smirk.
He takes the veil and looks at it, turning it around to look at both sides. "Although I shall treasure your tears always, does your ability with the sergeant extend beyond him? Or does our friend not permit you to offer more assistance than this cloth?"
Alicia keeps her eyes on the guards in the cell, but catches the sly one's glances at the armed men. She puts on a sultry smile, addressing the closest guard.
"Hey there, big fellow. Do you think I could get a ladle of water? Would you have me die thirsty?" She tries to sound meek and downtrodden, and is half successful. Blah, this crap was not her style, but it hopefully would get the man's attention away from their free compatriot. If he chose to make a move, so be it. If not, no worse off than before.
Alicia keeps her eyes on the guards in the cell, but catches the sly one's glances at the armed men. She puts on a sultry smile, addressing the closest guard.
"Hey there, big fellow. Do you think I could get a ladle of water? Would you have me die thirsty?" She tries to sound meek and downtrodden, and is half successful. Blah, this crap was not her style, but it hopefully would get the man's attention away from their free compatriot. If he chose to make a move, so be it. If not, no worse off than before.
The guard looks in your direction, but chooses not to answer you with anything but a scowl.