Less than 24 hours ago, the six of you were taken into Banderscar prison. There each of you was stripped and searched, before being branded with a runic F. This brand represents your status as Forsaken- proof that you ARE Forsaken, not just by the laws of fair Talingarde, but by Mitra, the lord on high, and his chosen earthly vessels. This nation has no hope for you, only condemnation.
You all sit in one communal cell, feet tethered together in one long chain and and arms secured to the wall by manacles. The cell is filthy, with rodents and other vermin flitting to and fro, and it smells strongly of waste. It is obvious that nobody cares about your well-being- the guards only intervene if they sense a disturbance or to shove gruel at you once or twice a day. You are dressed in what had been clean uniforms some years and countless prisoners ago, but what are now dirty rags.
But as miserable as Banderscar is, it is not long until you will be gone from this place. Where will your punishment take you? To the pyre to be burned to death? To the headsman's block? To far more elaborate tortures still? Or will it be to the salt mines, to extend your life a few more years of misery, where Talingarde will get the last out of you? Wherever it may be, it will not be pleasant. Escape is a hopeless idea, and even if you did escape, where would you go? Who would wish to deal with one of the Forsaken? All you can do now is sit and await your doom.
Travis scowls at the others tethered with him in their mutual prison, the scowl accentuating the birthmark between his brows. He bears them no ill will individually, his foul expression is for the place and those who put them here. He struggles briefly, trying to pull his thin wrists through the manacles holding them, but it seems slight as his form is, he is not thin enough for that, and he remains chained like the others.
Finally, after a long and apparently mutual silence, he speaks, hoping in such a place to find like souls. "Might as well know who I'm likely to die with. I'm Travis." He looks to the other with unfeigned interest for their replies.
Surely the Dark Powers didn't bring me so far for this to end here... there must be some way of escape... I will have to be vigilant in watching for an opening... of any kind. I wonder what brought these others here to this horrible place. Perhaps sharing our tales will pass the time, and I will find allies in service to the Dark Lord.
At least it wasn't as bad as the chopping block. Yet.
The cell took him back to the slum of his youth at times. It stank, it was grim, and the grime around gave him the revolting memory of his first home. Different though was the shackles; Kyras certainly was getting a first-hand feeling of what some of his trade goods endured.
Glancing to either side, it was clear they hadn't separated the prisoners by anything in particular. Sex and race varied, as did age; though they were not all human, the mageling pegged himself as perhaps the oldest of the bunch. This bondage is hell on my joints. After squirming once or thrice against his bindings, he gave up. Kyras's flexibility wasn't what it used to be. Neither was his patience for bruises.
Hope waned. The branding was perhaps the most insolent of the acts they endured, being treated like cattle. The real livestock were the guards which handled them, blindly following the sanctimonious society like the cows they were. However, with as ritualized as the procedures they endured and as unworried as the guards' dispositions were, it was clear escape did not happen here. Things went as planned. Prisoners entered. They labored. Then died.
I've overcome bad odds before though. Indeed he had, but not in these same circumstances. He was older now, and he couldn't even execute most of the incantations he had prepared while bound. He would have to rely these fellow prisoners if there was to be any chance of survival. Kyras looks over his strange bedfellows, trying to ascertain what he could about them. He would have to pick his words carefully.
Travis. This one wanted comfort before his death. If that was what could get him on his good time, Kyras was willing to oblige him. "Kyras. They brought me in for dabbling in illegal goods; what about you?" Something inhuman about his makeup kept his gaze longer than he would've liked.
A well-muscled, yet still slight-of-build tiefling sits chained next to Kyras. He is the one who just spoke a moment ago. Even in this dank place, with its stench of hopelessness and fear, the scent of brimstone and sulphur is present in the air around Travis as if some exotic perfume. His jet black hair hangs limp and tangled down his back. A birthmark, roughly in the shape of an inverted pentagram, seems emblazoned between his brows. The only other sign of his unnatural origins is the tail that lays coiled around one leg, though the tip occasionally twitches as he contemplates his neighbors.
"Kyras, eh?" he repeats the name as if securing it his memory. "Kidnapping." He shrugs, as if almost embarrassed of his crime. "More like attempted kidnapping. Who knew the brat's whore of a mother was a powerful wizard? Poor planning, I guess, but not my doing." He smiles wryly and sighs.
He looks the others over, shrugs again. "Seems like I might be the only survivor of that little fiasco."
The others might be the lucky ones, who knows. Though nothing happens by accident, I think. The Dark Lord has plans for me, yet, perhaps. We shall see.
Chatty. Perhaps if he'd spoken with the right people, he'd have known about the mother. In no mood for smiling, Kyras gazed ahead; hopefully one of the others would chime in instead of forcing out more information of his in this dialogue.
Not very chatty, but under the circumstances, understandable. It's not the best of circumstances, and anyone here isn't likely to be particularly personable anyway. Ah well, not a big deal... not my place to try to force a conversation... perhaps one of the others will have something to say.
He grows quiet and looks to the others chained there, hoping one of them might have something to say. He nudges Sholano, to his other side from Kyras, as if to urge him to speak.
The young woman at the end was stunning. Even with the bruises and dirt and dressed in prisoner's rags, she was still eye catching. Her red hair was long and thick and somehow managed to seem clean and free of tangles even though the rest of her was filthy.
She was small, barely more than five and managed to pack far more than her fair share of feminine curves onto her tiny frame. On her neck and across her shoulders, sometimes visible under the threadbare clothes she wore, was some kind of marking, like gold and silver tattoos traced in the shapes of feathers.
She had tested her bonds at first, but after a minute had sighed and relaxed, stretching out as best she could and relaxing on the rough stone floor.
"Rose." she said with her eyes still closed as she rested. "I might have killed someone who deserved it. Apparently that's a crime. If you ask me, Talenguard has it's priorities backwards. They should have thanked me."
Travis nods to Rose... "Rose," he says simply, locking another name into his memory. He tilts his head to one side, and asks simply, "Might have killed, or might have deserved it?"
Damned Mitrans and their misplaced moralities. I hope she killed a priest... or a noble... either one would do... or both in one, that would be sweet.
The Dwarven man looks between those he's chained to, a sour look on his face. He's easily as broad as any of the others, if not broader, though obviously a good deal shorter, and heavily muscled. His tanned skin and wild red hair seem to clash, while a pair of emerald eyes sit under heavy brows. Through the tattered prison outfit he wears, black Druidic tattoos can be seen covering his arms, chest and back, as well as a tattoo of a fang on his forehead.
The Dwarf laughs when the woman speaks, nodding at her statement. "Aye, 'at's roight, lass. We're doin' 'ese people a favor by cullin' th' 'erd!" he chuckles, bloodlust seeming to seep into his bright green eyes for a moment, but it seems to be gone once he blinks.
He grunts a sort of salutation as the others turn to look at him, saying, "Me name's Quomaugh, o' th' Ironmaw Orcs. 'ey put me in 'ere fir tryin' t' slay th' King o' Talingarde... an' I'd'a done i', too, if 'ey 'adn't caught me." He nods deeply, looking quite proud of himself. "Took a dozen o' 'is guards 'fore 'ey got me, an' i' would'a been more if I'd'a seen it comin'!"
"Might have killed. Definitely deserved it."
Opening her pretty green eyes and rolling over to prop her head up on one shackled arm, she arched an eyebrow at the boastful fellow near her.
"Ironmaw...orcs? You do know you're a dwarf, right?"
Sure of their motives. Good.
No regrets meant no doubts, and it would take focus to exploit any opening which presented itself. From what Kyras could glimpse of Rose's curves though, she could be quite distracting. Quite out of his league (especially at his age), Kyras thought back to Faella briefly.
The Dwarf's background was queer, but it did not matter a damn to Kyras at the moment - unless the harshness steeled Quomaugh's resolve.
"I do not intend to simply lay down before them. If you feel the same, perhaps we can make them earn their coin for the day." In unity, there was strength, he knew.
"Oh, don't worry, there were contingency plans for this," she smiled sweetly. "I wouldn't get too comfortable."
Quomaugh laughs. "I 'ear it all th' time, but i' ain't true, lass. I'm a born an' bred Orc, through an' through. Jus' a runt, is all," he says, smirking at her. He doesn't look even the slightest bit offended by the statement, and in fact, he gives her a pitying look, as if she's horribly mistaken.
When the older human suggests putting up a fight, Quomaugh can do nothing but smile widely. "Ya know, most o' ya humans, I don' like. But I like ya, mate. I'd be glad t' fight wit' ya," he speaks, beaming. The tattooed Dwarf looks positively ecstatic at the suggestion, and begins flexing against his bonds in excitement.
Quomaugh, eh? Again, repeating the name, securing it in memory thereby. "A noble goal. And quite the feat to take out a dozen guards in the effort. As for fighting, it'd be a pleasure to have the chance... I wouldn't count any of us out yet. As Rose says, there might yet be plans..."
Perhaps the Hand won't let me down, or perhaps the Dark One has other plans for us. I do not believe it will end here, though if it does, I swear it won't end without a fight.
The woman was well-spoken. Hopefully there was weight behind her words.
The wizened man waited, watching and listening for any sign of an opportunity.
Ulrich's eyes move like a sun dial's light across the line, inspecting each body that the guards threw in this pit. Eventually he sits up and leans back against the wall to get a better perspective, expression dead save the occasional twist of the neck. Every time his head rested on someone, he mumbles quietly to himself, blinks once, then turns his head again. He repeats this strange ritual, the words around him absorbed into his lobes and sent through a process no one could possibly comprehend.
He rests his gaze a little longer on Quomaugh around the time of his biological faux pax. He licks the corner of his lips and whispers, "Yes, we could reset the jaw bone, but pigmenting the skin might prove difficult. Stature would require lab grown vertebrae to increase height. He looks up at the bleak chambers as if to gaze at a forlorn overcast, the dreary doctor sighing, "Do gods dream of greatness before they die? Hm.." he brings his head back down and grins, chuckling with odd amusement, muttering, "Nonsense. Dreams are for children and the lazy."
Travis' eyes flash red in the darkness as he turns his gaze to Ulrich, who seems to have just awoken and sat up. What WAS the man muttering about.. something about body parts and dreams? Maybe he was some kind of macabre scientist. Whatever. He seems to have gone back to sleep again.
I could change my form, something smaller that could slip these manacles and leg irons... a gnome perhaps? That might work. But it would tip my hand earlier than I'd like... they will only put me in tighter bonds, which would be uncomfortable and harder to get out of. I will bide my time a bit longer and see what develops. Rose seems to think some plan is afoot for our escape. Perhaps she knows more than the others? We'll see... no matter though, I'm not going quiet and docile to the block. I WILL fight them as best I can... Make them take me down fighting at least. I will make Master Lorenz proud of me, even if it's for the last time.
The wiry man at the end of the line cocks his head quizzically. He'd been listening silently to the conversation so far, doing his best to get a feel for his fellows' disposition. He thought, now, he had their measure, and took a moment to solidify the information he had so far in his mind before speaking himself.
Travis. Kidnapping, he says. A curious one, in favor of bringing down the king. Haven't met him before, not much to go on yet.
But then there's Kyras Farson. Wouldn't have expected that one. I wonder what the 'illegal goods' were...something arcane, most likely. Too much money just laying around to be anything else. If memory serves, when last we met, I was Lonosh, I believe.
But wait - damn it, is that Lady Rose? Oh hell. Sholano it is, then. At least I won't have to keep the game straight, for once. If someone here is going to get up in arms about "mistaken identity", I'd rather it not be that little slip of a psychopath.
Or this Quomaugh of the Ironmaw, now I think about it. Chained to a madman. Wonderful. Who, exactly, does he expect to be fighting in here? If he tries to bring me down with him, he's got another thing coming.
And then, the creepy one in the middle. What was all that about bones and pigments? Some kind of alchemist, maybe? I'm going to need more, there.
Now then. Let's see about making some friends. Best to try for young, I think - hard to pull off human without a kit, but I think I can still make twenty or so work, even half-elven. The 'happy idiot' ought to work for a little while, think I'll run with that for now.
A brilliant smile splits his face, and he leans out from the wall as far as he can in an attempt to get his face visible to all.
"Can't say I expected to see familiar faces down here. Rose, Kyras," he nodded to the two named, "Sorry to hear of your troubles. Haven't a clue why I'm down here, myself. I was about to leave the city on a funded exploration when the guards grabbed me, saying something about fraud." He shrugged.
"Still, can't let circumstances get you down, can you? Sholano, at your service - such as it is," he adds this last with a wry twist to his mouth, clanking his manacles for emphasis.
"Did I hear someone say something about contingencies?"
Fraud comes in many forms. Though Kyras didn't immediately recognize the cellmate, it's quite possible he had met him before. Showy, eager to make an appearance. Or at least the one he wants. He didn't believe for a second the convivial convict was unaware of the grounds for his imprisonment, and where one lie was, more would follow. A puzzle, but not the sort he savored. Not in the mood to play sift through the s*@@ right now...
Their crimes were different as well. Why would they be sectioned off into a room together, away from other prisoners? That was a more palpable mystery for Kyras to set his mind to - and so he did.
"Sholano, eh?" Travis says the name almost as more of a question than a statement. He examines the young half-elf from the corner of his eye.
[i]Fraud isnt much of a capital crime. It must have been SOME fraud he put over and on someone important. Still, he's here so he might not be half good. I'm guessing he's older than he looks, being half-elven, but perhaps not so old as this Kyras fellow. Now HE's old. Maybe not all wrinkled up and fat yet, but on his way for sure. Speaking of Kyras, I wonder what illegal goods are. Ah well, he'd have said if he wanted anyone to know. Not that it really matters, I guess. Don't really care if I'm chained next to a black marketeer, or a slaver, or worse. If there's a chance in hell of getting out of here, I may have to rely on these five. Is there a one among them worth trusting long enough to get free?[i]
Quomaugh attempts to eye Sholano warily, but is stymied by the bonds holding his arms to the wall and the other people in the way. After a minute or two of trying, he simple leans back against the wall and gives up. "If yer 'ere, lad, 'en whate'er ya did, i' was big. I 'eard some o' th' guards talkin'... e'erybody 'ere is gonna git dead, some 'orse 'an o'ers, and 'ey all deser' it" he states, almost sounding like he's talking to himself, a neutral expression on his face. "Said 'ey were gonna tear me limb fr'm limb... 'ey're more 'an welcome t' try, but I'm no' e'en gonna le' 'em imagine 'is fella'll go down noice and quiet-like," he finishes, a thoroughly excited grin replacing the previous calm look.
"I don' know nothin' 'bout planin' or nothin', but if ya need muscle, 'at's me specialty, an' I'd be glad t' len' it t' ya."
Ulrich stretches and yawns, "Confident and eager to get out are we? He smirks and chuckles, musing, "It reminds me of those poor men and women dressed in black watching as their loved ones are immortalized in amber and magic...like they'll come back to life again." His pause warrants a bemused grin at the thought of a man's bones leaping from the confines of his coffin. If they aren't going to rot in the ground, and if you aren't going to bring them back then why waste the money?
The good doctor taps his fingers against the wall and grunts, "We'll probably lose mobility in our fingers in a few minutes unless you all have a bull's heart stuck in your chests. It'll amaze you how quickly you'll miss snapping your fingers."
He is too well-spoken to be some common wretch. Some schooling surely aids his twisted visions. That education could let the man grasp a plan though, unlike the delusional Dwarf with them.
"I could give more than a few fingers to be out of here." The man was right though; the pressure on their wrists would soon cause damage. Damn them! Without his fingers to complete the little magic he had at their tips, Kyras would surely be doomed.
The door of the cell swings open suddenly, and six guards enter, flanking a man in the middle- Sergeant Tomas Blackerly. This is the man who pressed the brand against your arm, laughing as your skin charred. He's not laughing now- in fact, he seems slightly dazed, almost entranced. Pointing to Sholano, he yells to the others, "That's the man! Get him unshackled, but make sure the others don't try anything. Looks like's it's your lucky day, scum. You've got a visitor- a lovely lady, looking to say goodbye. Now hurry up, we're not going to keep her waiting."
The guards comply with the orders, unchaining Sholano's arms and taking his legs out of the shackles. With a heave, two of them hoist him up, keeping him secure.
Quomaugh begins to flex against his bonds, emerald eyes boring a hole through the Sergeant's skull. "Don' think fir e'en a second 'at I've firgotten 'at ya did, whelp! Yer gonna rue th' day ya ran in'a Quomaugh Ironmaw!" the Dwarf shouts as he struggles, not content to sit peaceably while they unshackle Sholano.
Kyras's unforgiving eyes glared at the sergeant. As one does not forget a brand pressed into the skin, he would not forget the person of his brander.
Right on que. Guess it's my turn to owe her one.
Sergeant Blackerly is a fat man, dressed in a uniform similar to that of the guard. He's carrying a longsword, set of keys, and a pouch of some sort. Underneath his uniform he seems to be wearing chainmail. His hair is dark black, and he has a short beard of the same hue.
Travis narrows his eyes as he glances at the sergeant, and his red eyes glow in the dim light of the cell. His lips twitch slightly, but he says nothing. The dwarf-who-thinks-himself-an-orc has said all that needs saying.
'Rue the day?' Who says 'rue the day'??? Still it is as much warning as the sergeant is likely to get. Someday, he will receive his just
rewards for treating men.. and women.. in such fashion. Stupid, fat bastard. Probably can't even see his own member when he takes a piss.
Ulrich is dead silent in his observation of Sholano's temporary leave, immediately suspicious of more to come. His eyes shift to the sergeant as his men escort the chipper young man, chuckling, "What's wrong? Someone actually cares what happens to a Forsaken person? My, my that temper of yours could lead to some...unsavory medical conditions. With all that stress, your heart might just stop working all together. But I'm happy to see sadism is one of your daily activities; after all, who can't help but love the sound of bubbling flesh against the hot iron end of a brand? Or do you prefer the smell? It's the smell isn't it? Oh my sergeant, you're a naughty boy; we better be careful around you less we catch you raping Mitra's whores too!"
His laugh is maddening, a giddy grin plastered on his twisted features as he attempts to get under the sergeant's skin, provoking his anger more so than ever. It amazed him how brave an organism gets when it faces its demise.
Sholano smiles at the guards in a grateful fashion, wanting to rub his wrists but not willing to resist the guards for the privilege.
"A lady, you say? I don't suppose she gave her name?"
Who the hell...?
He resists the urge to throw dark glances back at his cellmates. Damn hard to lull these fat idiots into complacency with the pack of lunatics behind him yelling threats.
So he's in the dark as well on this. The talkative fraud would go along for the ride, to be sure, but Kyras almost wished he'd put up a fight. Until he started losing feeling in his fingers, he could provide a little support - but not much.
Then again, the fool would probably just escape and leave them to rot.
One of the guards shrugs their shoulders. "Uh, I'm not sure?" It seems to be the general agreement from the group.
Sergeant Blackerly glares at the various prisoners who yell insults and threats at him, but says nothing directly to him. "Guards, be sure to teach these prisoners how to respect their betters tonight." With that he leaves the room, Sholano and the guards in tow. Leading him to a small meeting room, the Sergeant personally escorts Sholano inside.
The sergeant pauses for a moment, expression completely blank. Then he says, "Anything for you, my lady." He leaves, and the woman and Sholano are alone in the room. Once she's sure nobody else is watching, her expression changes completely. "Have we actually met before? Forgive me if I can't remember. Either way, call me Tiadora. We have a mutual friend who would like to meet you and your fellow cell-mates. Well, not meet in Rose's case, but he'd like her back regardless. Unfortunately he cannot come here, so you'll simply have to escape. I'm sure you can do it- just that nobody's done it before doesn't mean you can't be the first."
"Once you leave, cross the moors on the outskirts of town. You will see a manor house with a single lantern burning in the second-story window. There our mutual friend awaits."
She takes off her veil and hands it to Sholano. "Something to remember me by."
Travis sneers slightly at the threat, just short of a snarl. He sizes up the guards a little, trying to gain the measure of their skill as they file out of the room.
I'm sure that I can free myself from the bonds to fight, but the others would still be bound and unable to help me. Could I take on all the guards by myself? It might be worth it to try. Might as well die here than to the headsman or worse.
Quomaugh sneers at the sheriff and his guards before Sholano is escorted from the room, defiance burning bright in his eyes. "I ain't scared o' nothin' ya weaklin's c'n do t' me! Gi' me yer worst!" he states, chuckling at their threats.
"Down boy. Sit." Rose says quietly.
You'll be no good later if you get beaten down now.
"Tiadora. Sholano gives a slight bow, a hint of the upper classes creeping into his voice. "Delighted to make your acquaintance again - particularly in these circumstances."
He looks over the veil for a moment before folding it delicately and concealing it within his rough prisoner's clothes. Nodding to her, he gives her a smile with a twist at the corners. "A mutual friend, you say? I was unaware we had any of those - excepting dear Rose, of course."
Knowing it was probably a bad idea, he still couldn't resist tossing in a quick dig at her cover story - the stunning lack of forthcoming information had irritated him. With an impish grin, he adds, "Or shall we simply put on a display for the guards...dearest?"
She then stands up, looking tearful again, and the guards enter with the Sergeant. "No, I can't bear to leave you!" Leaning over, she gives Sholano an ice-cold kiss on the cheek. The sensation is inhuman, almost alien.
[spoiler]Sholano almost starts at the touch of her freezing lips, only his long-ingrained reflexes keeping the reaction in check.
"No, dear one, don't fret," he says, giving his best 'noble sacrifice' shtick. He takes her hand and raises it to his lips, using the opportunity to gauge if anything else is off about her touch. "You will find another, in time. Spare not another thought for me."
Turning to the guard, he nods to them. "Let us not torment the lady further, sirs."
"A good friend..." repeats the Sergeant, almost mechanically. Then he snaps out of it and bows deeply. "It was a pleasure, ma'dam." The other guards see nothing wrong with this, and one even escorts Tiadora out of the room politely. As the other guards take Sholnao back to the cell, Tiadora turns to him one last time and gives him a wicked smile. Her voice telepathically rings in his head: <<Three days, dearest. Don't disapoint me. Oh, and give my regards to Rose.>> Even when shackled, Sholano can still reach the veil...
The guards take Sholano back into the cell and shackle him up, before quickly leaving, clearly not wishing to deal with the other prisoners.
Travis smirks slightly when Sholano returns. Even the charming half-elf couldn't quite talk himself out of this place. Still, it was good to see him still alive. He gives a half-smile when the guards leave, at least for now ignoring their orders to teach them all a lesson. Perhaps their memories are not as good as the fat bastard expects them to be... or it isn't really night yet... Either way, it gives me time to consider freeing myself from these bonds. If I do, what then? It's not like I can open the cell door from inside. Nor can I free the others to aid me in overpowering the guards when they return. What now?
Once the guards are gone and the sound of their footsteps has faded completely, he turns to Sholano. "So, did you enjoy your tryst? It must be nice to have a friend, especially one willing to visit you in this place. Did she slip you a key or a weapon perhaps or did she just come to say goodbye?"
Sholano coughs, turning his head so that Travis can't see him roll his eyes. Subtle, aren't we?
"Nothing so blatant, my impatient friend. Merely a token of her esteem." With a few deft wrist movements, Sholano shakes free a diaphanous piece of cloth from his right shirt sleeve, away from the reach of any of the others. With a bit more time available to him now, he dangles it in front of his face as best he can, attempting to inspect it more closely and discover its secrets.
Without turning to look, he adds, "Oh, and milady Rose? She sends her regards."
"Ah well. A token eh? Milady's handkerchief, it looks like. How... nice." Though nothing in his tone of voice indicates he thinks there's anything nice about it. He sighs softly and again tests the manacles and shackles... considering their size very carefully.
Quomaugh grunts, disappointed. "Wha' a letdown. No' e'en a one o' 'em so much as go' near me," he complains, obviously distraught at not getting a chance to headbutt anyone. "Well 'en, lad, wha'd else did yer ladyfriend say, hm?" he asks, head turned as much as possible, but still unable to see Sholano through the others chained up between them.
"Be patient, friend dw.. orc... at least one will have to stray near you eventually... you'll get your chance." Though I'm not sure how much good it'll do you, if you remain chained here despite getting a few licks in on one of them. Maybe it'll give you some personal satisfaction?
This is what the Veil looks like, for those who haven't yet seen it.
[url="http://i187.photobucket.com/albums/x37/tradgamestock/Way%20of%20the%20Wicked/TiadorasVeil.png"]
And a description of the pictures on the veil for those who can't see pictures.
One bottle, one sack, two daggers, one five-pointed star, one set of thieves's tools, one window, one rope, one stack of small round items, one lantern.
"Very pretty token there, Sho, with pretty pictures on it. What good are pretty pictures though? I think your lady is something of a tease."
The doctor abruptly suggests, "Put it on. He cranes his head back, his neck clicking like a crank. He muses, "If nothing happens, then it's highly unlikely to help, and we'll all be executed tomorrow. No pressure." He chuckles and sees if Sholano can even put the damned thing on in his position. As a final note of reassurance, he says, "But don't grieve my parting; at least I'll die knowing just how long a severed head remains alive. I'm hypothesizing somewhere between thirty seconds and a minute. Keep count for me so I can get a second opinion while our bones cook in the pits of Hell."