Six dots.
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?
If you want(I really recomment it), you can start with all your spell for the day, but even if you sleep, you can't recover then for now.
"Ah well, you win some, you lose some. Guess it wasn't in the cards for me."
They didn't need to interrogate him: All the other guys involved were around the arena, drinking and laughing as they watched the game unfold. They just hung him up here for a while until his turn came to get the axe. Heh. They sure know how to keep a guy waiting.
He's been keeping busy giving the guards 'the eye'. Funny how a well placed stare can get a man tripping and fumbling.
Damien ponders the branded 'F' on his arm, between that burn scar from that one rogue's burning dagger and a pair of puncture scars that can only have resulted from that one game with the snake. That was a good one. It was for him, at least. The other guy probably didn't find it as interested, especially when the reptile coiled around his neck.
With him being forced to wear this short-sleeved outfit, it's pretty clear that the rotund man is anything but a well balanced individual. Scars. All over his arms. Really odd ones. Burn marks, acid scars, lash marks, cuts, punctures, old frost-induced blemishes, signs of once-broken bones. Is there a kind of injury he hasn't suffered? Unlikely. Think that's bad? You should see the other guys.
Ah, good times.
For some reason, they let him keep his glasses on. Maybe they figured he deserved to see his final fate clearly. Good. A man deserves to see his cards before the dealer takes his chips away.
They said he'd be up on the chopping block soon. Boring. I mean, decapitation? How uncreative. The least they could do is spice it up a little. Poison, maybe some kind of drug? Heck, throw a tiger at him or something.
Yawn.
Good thing he'd managed to prep some spells while they weren't looking. Might at least give the crowd a bit of a show before they sent him up to gamble with the afterlife.
"So. What about you lot? What are you in for?"
Why's everyone looking so glum, anyway, it's not like we're about to be exec- Oh, right.
justice...vengeance...retribution. Johan was focused on the throbbing pain of his recently acquired brand. He had hoped it would help block out the whispers. It wasn’t working. justice..vengeance..retribution. Johan tried something else. He concentrated on the face of the man who had applied the brand. justice.vengeance.retribution. But his features melted away, morphing first into his mentor then, inevitably his father. justicevengeanceretribution. He swooned on the edge of consciousness. JUSTICEVENGEANCERETRIBUTION… easy come easy go. Huh?
Johan struggled to swim back to the present, and gradually became aware of others in the cell. He shook his head and looked up to see a rotund scarred man smiling back at him. Was he wearing spectacles? Great, now he was seeing things as well as hearing them. Johan scowled at the bespectacled man. That usually made people go away. The bespectacled man kept smiling. "So. What about you lot? What are you in for?"
Johan laughed gruffly and replied ” A nation’s justice, a rich man’s vengeance, and, I think, a whispering god's retribution .
Innocent... I'm innocent, a supremely well muscled man groans, like he is in emotional distress.
He has the build of an athlete, one who trains for speed and endurance. His body is well developed without being overly developed or disproportionally large except perhaps in the wrists and shoulders.
He laughs... a gently reproving laugh, with just a hint of madness to it.
Can't let them see I am scared to die... oh no... that wouldn't do at all, he says quietly.
His head snaps up with the rapidity of snake, his expression desperate as he strains against his chains, every muscle standing out, trembling and clearly defined.
, he howls, eyes bulging while he contorts his body this way and that.
Such efforts seem wasted as he slumps back.
Gotta give it a try... can't die here! Don't wanna die here! I've tested the chains... and the manacles... maybe I can get a hand free?! Stretch or break them maybe?! Oh Gods, let it be so...
As you began to howl, the guard run near the cell, club in this hand. "Hey, you there, shut up. If you don't stay quiet you will earn a beating!" He hits the cell bars with his club as to demonstrate his point, and then heads over to his guarding post.
Damien rolls his eyes. Such a racket from that one.
"Oh, quit your whining, would you? No one likes a sore loser! Surely you've done something to wind up in here?"
Eldred falls to weeping while continuing to look at his fellow captives... and the box.
If only we could escape... I could get back to my beloved wife and my little Maggie.
Bastards... maybe they have the common decency or stupidity to leave a bit of wire or a bent nail or something...
He then starts looking on the floor of his cell, searching with his feet, his toes exploring, looking for anything that may be of help, while he continues to cry.
He must make an interesting sight.
You look around, searching for something you can use, anything at all, and you found nothing. Not a thing was left in the cell, nothing you can use.
They say I tried to kill the Watch Captain... well, that and defraud a bunch of really rich people out of a lot of money..., he says weakly.
Still writhing his legs around snake like, feet skittering over the floor.
You?, he asks. You look like a desperate man. I'd need to careful around you. I think you got pulled in because of that? Right?
Just who is this guy anyways? Maybe HE seems happy to die... but I... I... won't go without a fight!
Foam starts to fleck his lips at his exertions and due to his stress.
The ugly, one-eyed Hobgoblin responded to Damien's question in his typical quiet, solemn manner. He was sat quietly, taking in the scene around him with his one good eye. The other had quite clearly been recently put out, but showed no sign of infection. He was tall- for a Hobgoblin at any rate; with the lithe, tough build of that Goblinoid race. It was difficult to see in the dim light but he was also hideously scarred; from both blade and flame. His single eye was blood-red but seemed far less brutal than most goblinoids; there was an unusual spark of both discipline and intelligence there.
Slave taking. Murder. Raiding. Banditry. Perhaps other crimes I am not aware of. I thought the patrols in the north weak; and the blood of my kin is on my hands.
Malgrim addressed the loud athlete.
Do not attract attention and I may be able to slip these manacles; perhaps you may see your woman again. I will require some time.
More than likely, your woman will simply hear tell of a failed attempt to escape Branderscar, but I for one would die fighting.
In a distinctly methodological manner, Malgrim began to carefully probe his bonds for any weakness, any point at which he could exploit and slip free. He also examined his hands and wrists in a calm, appraising manner; seeking a joint to snap that would make the process easier or even feasible.
"Me? Let's just say the shiny ones at the top didn't like the games my pals and I were playing. They call it 'dueling unto death'; we called it a bit of fun between two men who knew what they were getting into."
Damien watches curiously as Malgrim does his thing. Maybe there was a round of cards to be dealt yet.
Malgrin, you tested all possibilities, you probed for any weakness. There are plenty as far you can see. The metal is not strong as it once was. The manacles are not secure as they once were. But even so, it's beyond your ability to escape.
I can... not quite manage it. Unless someone is able to render assistance, this particular door is closed to us. Perhaps a concerted effort from all of us to break a single prisoner's manacles will prove more lucrative... Malgrim suggested, the one-eyed Hobgoblin seething with frustration.
Johan listens quietly to the others. In particular he paid close attention to the hobgoblin and his efforts - cool and efficient movements. He pondered what it meant that he was now sharing this cell with one of the monsters that he had been trained to kill. When he and the athletic man farther down the line start pulling in their leg chains in tandem, Johan applies what little leverage he can manage to assist.
Eh, why not? What's the worst that could happen? May as well make a little trouble for these guards.
Damien shrugs, pulling as well. He wasn't as strong as these men, but he was no slouch.
A group of eight guards, heavily armed and ready for trouble, come into the cell led by a fat well-dressed sergeant of the watch. Each of you recognizes Sergeant Tomas Blackerly. This was 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 to Johan and says gruffly:
“You there! That’s the scum! Get ‘im unshackled. If any of you makes trouble, you’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.”
“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, her 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.”
"I'd bet you he's having a last hurrah with his wife, if you know what I mean, but there ain't exactly much to bet here."
Damien erupts into laughter at his own crack, inexplicably joyous even in the face of near-certain death. Far from a mere chuckle or guffhaw, his laughter is a remarkable thing, straight from the deepest pits of his gut, a powerful, almost room-shaking thing.
"Hey, guard! Do you know if we get a last meal or something? Least this place could do is make sure we don't die on an empty stomach!"
Johan arches an eyebrow in curiosity as Blackerly mentions a fine lady wanting to say her good byes. He was reasonably certain he didn’t know any “fine ladies.” His next thought was whether or not he could strangle the sergeant to death with his manacles before the other seven guards beat him to a pulp. He was reasonably certain he couldn’t, so he let himself be led out of the cell.
Johan is seated and is a little dumbstruck by the beauty of the woman across from him. He had been right – definitely never met anyone like her before. She speaks to Blackerly and his odd departure draws another arched eyebrow of curiosity.
”Uh, thanks,” Johan says as she finishes speaking and slides her veil across the table to him. He picks it up and examines it as he speaks, blunt as usual, firing of questions in rapid succession. Did you do something to that guard? Who’s this mutual friend? What does he want from us? And this veil, its pretty and all but um, how’s it supposed to help? Johan’s relatively young age becomes apparent as his train of thought is broken by his visitors plunging neckline, and his next series of questions are a little less coherent. I mean, can’t you offer any more concrete aid? Like a map of this place. Yeah a map would be useful. Because you know, I wasn’t too with it when they brought me in so… I mean I could escape from here with just a lacey veil if I wanted,, but.. ahem. Joahn realizes he is rambling and pulls himself together with a shake, fixing Tiadora with his sternest gaze So, a map, yes?
Oh... Dammit I can't die.
He continues to strain against the chains.
four of the eight guards came to the cell again. They unlocked it once more and the frist one said: "You've been warned scum, now ya get to a nice beating."
Two of the guards entred the cell and went to Eldered and Damien.
Chained as you are, there's little chance of doing anything in return.
Damien
x AC: 10(ff)
(half dmg rounded up is lethal, other half is non-lethal)
Eldred
x AC: 10(ff)
(half dmg rounded up is lethal, other half is non-lethal)
"Will ya shut up now or do we have to beat you senceless?"
Her message delivered, she is impatient to leave and does little to answer questions.
"The less you know the better…" she says smiling to you.
And then to your other questions "I'm sure someone resorseful as you will manage without a map, or get one in the process..."
The veil is indeed magic, but you cannot determine what kind of item or even what magic school is the aura.
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 yours one last time and she briefly gives you a wicked smile.
“Three days,” telepathically echoes in the your mind.
“Don’t disappoint me, dearest”. The visitation concluded, you is taken back to his cell by a cadre of guards to see Eldred and Damien gettin a beating and then you are shackled once more.
Malgirm was stoic and silent as the guards came in, acting as cowed as possible. When they left the room, he was clearly furious, whispering-
For all we know, the boy's visitor may be an opportunity for us. Do not squander it by getting beaten to death like some petulant offspring...
Eldred took his beating well, cursing all the time.
Damien stares down the guard as he approached, with an amused "I bet you can't even do 'that' right." kind of a stare.
If the guard does manage to hit him, Damien takes the hit with a silent wince, refusing to give his captor the satisfaction of a shout of pain.
Johan frowns at the fresh bruises on Eldred and Damien. Before today he had been somewhat resigned to his fate: He had committed crimes, justified or not, and deserved to be punished for them. But watching the guards beat two chained men stoked that fire in his heart high once more - the same fire that had blazed when he burned that witch; when he assaulted that poaching merchant - and he knew he couldn't let himself be killed here.
Once he is re-chained to the wall and he is sure the guards have left, he whispers to the others, We have been handed an opportunity. Are any of you familiar with matters arcane?"
"Uh-huh. Plenty familliar, but there ain't much I can do about it with my hands chained to the wall."
x DC 16 : Fail
The guard misses the attack and stares dumbfounded to Damien and then to his weapon. "I'm sur I was guin to hit the fat basterd..."
x DC 15
He stares a little more and in the and just give up and leave the cell.
Damien takes the veil carefully. "Let's see what's up with this, then..."
Eldred stares for a moment, eyes shining with hope which he rapidly tries to conceal.
You were able to cast your magic, The veil is indeed magic and it sheds a moderate aura. But you could not identify it.
x DC 24
You were not able to identify the veil, but you can surely try again.
"Eesh, this is a tricky one."
"Oh... I get it." Damien smirks as the magic reveals itself.
"Ah... So that's what this is..."
Damien smirks.
It's know as Veil of Useful Items.
This appears to be a fine silk veil of gossamer cloth. Only as it is
held and closely inspected can you see small cloth patches
of various shapes. One patch can be detached each round
as a move action. Detaching a patch causes it to become an
actual item. This veil contains:
• 2 daggers
• Lantern
• Rope
• Sack
• Thieves Tools
• Window
• Potion
• Gold pieces
• Symbol of Asmodeus
Once removed, a patch cannot be replaced.
Damien goes wide eyed and whispers.
"... Whoa. This is our ticket out of here. Can any of you work a lock with the right tools?"
Assuming someone claims they can, Damien hands them the veil, pointing out the Thieves Tool patch.
While he was being dragged to and from their cell, Johan had noticed that what he assumed was an exterior wall to his immediate right in fact led to another room or cell. To occupy himself while the portly man examined the veil, he tapped gently on the wall and craned his head to see if he could hear anything from the other side.
“That Blackerly is a damned thief! That game was
rigged last night!”
“If it’s rigged, why do you keep going back to the gatehouse then?”
“The beer’s passable.”
A laugh is heard. “Drinkin’ on duty! Damn, this place has gone to hell. Captain Callidan would have never tolerated that crap. That’s for sure!”
“Captain Callidan … he left, what? Two years ago?”
“Almost three and since then the place has been straight down the shi-tter. That old wizard never leaves his tower. He stays up there reading his books and petting his owl!”
“Petting his owl? Is that what they call it these days?”
The guards enjoy a bit of a laugh.
The door is open, there's one guard inside it, that one is the one with the keys and signal horn. The other is at the door, they spend most of the time chating.
Eeach of then uses a chain mail, and a heavy shield for protection. They carry a long sword, a club and a long bow, with some arrows.
As far you can see, they are not really paying attetion to you in the cell.
Malgrim was clearly suspicious. The hobgoblin spoke quietly, but urgently to Johan-
You! This visitor of yours; what were her terms? What have you bound us to?
Johan regards the maimed hobgoblin cooly. I have bound us to nothing. Of course I am suspicious of this 'mutual friend' she spoke of, but she named no terms for her aid. Only that we all meet at this mannor when we escaped. I say we use whatever this gift is to get out of here then honour the obligation. Of course, I don't expect a beast from north of the wall to understand obligation. You are free to go your own way once beyond the prison.
.
I can use the tools, Eldred hisses desperately.
He takes the veil using cough and a stretching to scratch to mask it.
Sleight of Hand
He then selects a tool surreptitiously and sets to work on the locks on himself first.
Disable Device