
cosmiy |

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.
Lysander Tremayne, Darsis Valdane, Marvo, Gunter Gurden, Katrin Whitebranch.

Darsis Valdane |

A powerfully built young man with short oily black hair, and a jutting anvil for a jaw regards his fellow prisoners with narrowed eyes, his gaze seemingly resting upon their throats as he examines them in turn.
"I will not be caged, I am no animal. I am Darsis Valdane, I determine my fate and I will allow nobody to take that from me," he says, voice low and certain.

Lysander Tremayne |

You've failed the cause. You've failed Asmodeus. You've failed ME
-~/~-
You know the penalty for this, if you are caught. You will be put to death, but not quickly--not by the executioner's axe, or even burning. No, these are too fast, too painless, for even the fires can be cleansing, as fires reign in Asmodeus' land. No, you will be drawn and quartered. Your limbs will be ripped from their sockets, your very body split into pieces, a slight pull at a time, and your screams will echo across Talingarde, Lysander. You will feel every moment of that torment, I assure you. Every excruciating instant will be yours to cherish before you die. And no one will be there to save you.
But he couldn't
-~/~-
Do not bother resisting, Lysander. These guards are pigs--slow, fat, easy targets. They have grown weak from their opulence, from easy living under easy rule. Without the law and order required to keep them fighting chaos, they have stopped the fight. They have failed their purpose. They are nothing; you are less. You have failed not out of apathy, or ambivalence, or ignorance of your sin. You have failed due to the greatest sin of all: WEAKNESS. So do not struggle, Lysander; do not resist. Feel the burn of that brand--you will feel worse before this ordeal is done. Accept it, as you accepted defeat on that sword--
I didn't accept it, I had no choice--
You let yourself fall. This is your own doing, Lysander. They are pigs, and you are filth. Die with other filth, if that is all you are.
Master
-~/~-
The glistening man doesn't seem to have slept much.
Indeed, he seems to glisten, even in the dim lighting and dirty locale of this prison. Staring straight forward, unblinking, you get a good look at him. Handsome, very much so, but also vaguely exotic. His glistening skin, bright ivory under the coat of dust and grime, is coupled with red hair that almost seems aflame. His whole body seems to glow. Most striking are his eyes: bright blue, brighter than the brightest summer day, deeper than the deepest pool. Even though he is painfully thin, and dressed in the rags of the prison, the man exudes an aura of barely-controlled power, as though his spirit is bursting from his body, trying to break free from this mortal shell.
He turns to look at the young man next to him. Though he looks young, those eyes suggest wisdom far beyond the years of a young man, and it is difficult to gauge an actual age.
"Animal or no, caged you are. Like the rest of us." His voice is calm, almost lyrical, and even somewhat soothing. "We're here to die, and that is our fate. I know not what you did, but you were caught. I only pray you succeeded, unlike myself." Lowering his head, the man spits some dirt from his lips and inhales deeply before giving a sigh. "May your name gain more infamy in this rotting world than that of Lysander Tremayne."
Can Lysander manifest his mind blade in the prison? With his hands behind his back and everyone facing the same direction--away from the wall--he tries to form a dagger when he breathes with his head down. Only for an instant if it works--he immediately releases the hold and lets it dissipate. He's just checking whether he can form it at all--mayhap that he's not as hopeless as he seems.

Darsis Valdane |

Darsis turns to look Lysander over for a long moment before he says slowly,
"Well enough, though it was not worth the price and I have no care for infamy. Still a person must take risks. You concede your life then Lysander Tremayne?"

Mavro |

Mavro fiddles in his uncomfortable position for some time. Eventually, he is forced to concede that there is no such thing as a comfortable position. The floor was hard, the shackles around around his wrists and shins chafing and his head throbbing from mild starvation and dehydration.
The cell is deafening save for the muttered conversations of the few talkative inmates and even then it felt as if that too took on a stifled quality. It was taking Mavro far too long now to realize that he was waking up from another sleepless sleep again into the dreamless dream. His eyes watered from the dirt dust that assaulted them and his throat itched from its parchedness.
Alas, he'd felt worse.
Sitting next to Darsis, the half-orc begins to stir, moving slowly, sluggishly into different positions against the wall, yet finding none to his liking, he settles back down into a leaning position.
The dirt and the grime do little to disguise his handsome features, barring even the jarring and disconcerting large scars and jagged tattoos that cover mostly every inch of his exterior. His eyes shone a limpid opaque white and his hair, brushed back behind his head, was jet black, filthy and oily from a lifetime of few bathes. His features, however, are attractively masculine and handsomely built, it is difficult to reconcile the differences with the average picture of an orc that comes to mind. At the top of his comely face sits a conspicuously drawn symbol that, oddly, seems permanently stitched into the fabric of his skin, not artificially but organically. It is a capital A letter mixed with the image of an upside-down horseshoe, both interlaced on top of one-another.
Finally, after a few minutes of fidgeting, Mavro moves his head to speak to the other men. "The theatrics are moving, surely, but the setting is hardly appropriate. Perhaps we are but animals, but I have been called worse, but I could hardly call our oppressors anything similar to 'human.' They are more like the rats we find infesting our palace here than anything demonstrably human." He turns his head to stare outside into the prison halls, seeing nobody moving beyond the blank, endless labyrinth. "Of course, at least the rats have their freedom. We're the ones trapped here."
He looks back at the two other men. "My given name is Mavro, but if that is too difficult than any one of you may call me "Charmer." It makes no difference in the end."

Katrin Whitebranch |

The prison rags are comically small on the large curvy woman, and much of her pale flesh is exposed. Half of her whitish blonde hair is dirty and wet from laying against the wall, a position necessitated by her large frame. Her blue eyes open enough to glare through slits at the men who are talking.
Thrown into a filthy pit with the likes of these? The shiny one spouts poetry while the greasy one speaks of action he does not take. Oh, and now a pretty orc spouts philosophy. Surely I am already in hell.
She strains her rock hard muscles against the chains, hoping for a miracle.
Strength check to break manacles 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

Lysander Tremayne |

"You concede your life then Lysander Tremayne?"
The man gives a thin smile. "Perhaps not so easily as our captors think. After all, I did fail in my attempt, and I won't rest until I succeed." He shifts his head to look at the half-orc on the other side of Darsis. "Rats? They are more like pigs--fat, slow, living on the slop in which they wallow. And I don't intend to stay trapped for long."
Big talk from such filth, the voice whispers in his head. So you still have some hope; what will you do with it?
Lysander takes another breath and fiddles with the manacles, hoping to either unlock them or slip his hands through.
Disable Device, improvised: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9
Escape Artist: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

Taemon'dow |

Last on the left end of the chain sits a man who leans against the wall, eyes closed in quiet contemplation. He is tall, on the lean side, but powerfully muscled. What was once clean brown hair hangs to his shoulders, and a no-longer neatly groomed beard adorns a breathtakingly handsome face. His skin is pale white, smooth as alabaster, though it is streaked now with dirt and soot. His cloths may be rags now, but it appears that they were once fine garments, perhaps even silk. Regardless of their condition now, he wears them like raiment all the same.
He sits calmly, almost as though bored, only opening his eyes now and again to glance around.
At his immediate neighbor's latest comment (Lysander) he says, "Its never too late, eh? I like a man with a positive outlook. I'm not familiar with many tales of escape from this prison, but I suppose there is a first time for everything. Keep your eyes open, friends", he stresses the word making it sound ironic, and jingles his wrist chain as he does, "I'll do the same. I like slim odds better than no odds."

Lysander Tremayne |

Lysander closes his eyes once more as the manacles prove difficult to pick with his nails, and too tight to slip his hands out of. So, what do you do now, boy? You've been captured; you're stuck, you can't just slip out. What do you do?
The glistening man turns to the equally-pale man to his left. "You like slim odds, you'd love why I'm here... and if you like the idea of getting out, play along."
Then Lysander begins to make loud gagging noises, bucking his body against the chains, making as much noise as he can. "Guards!" he shouts out, his voice thick, seeming almost choked out. "I'm going to--I'm going to be sick! I need... I need to move!" The man lets out a few hacking coughs and gags once more.
Bluff: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

Katrin Whitebranch |

The large woman not deterred by her first attempt failing, continues to tug and strain on the manacles.
She's going keep trying until she's exhausted or something noteworthy happens.
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Str check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17
There's a minute worth of checks to get started.
Edit:
Seeing the shiny one putting on a ruse, she will be careful to stop tugging at her bonds before the guards arrive. But will utilize every second until they do.

cosmiy |

After Lysander starts to yell, you can sounds from the guardroom as if someone's getting up from a chair. But then you can hear the voice of a guardswoman. "Don't listen to him, Jakob- it's one of the prisoners trying to trick you again."
"A-are you sure? That guy sounds legitimately sick..."
"Yeah, they all do to you." She says again.
After a few moments you can hear the sound of the man sitting back down.
Meanwhile, Katrin's attempts at breaking herself free are still unsuccessful, although on her second attempt she did feel as if she was almost there.

Gunter Gruden |

Perhaps the quietest of them all sat wedged between Marvo and Katrin, his eyes not even opening during the conversations that were happening around him. Such conversing was lost on him, for back in his home, the only words whispered were prayers to his god, and even then he hardly participated. He had not regrets for the actions that caused him to be here, as he was taught that such feelings were of immense weakness.
If only his god could see him now, chained up like an animal, thin and weak from lack of nutrients. He was but a lad, hardly breaking the age of independence in this country, and has hardly seen outside of his sect. In saying this, however, chains and filth were not new sights to him, and he seemed almost comfortable against the wall. What the lad didn't like was the strangers that surrounded him. What strange beings they seemed to be, and worse so, they seemed to be hatching a plan of sorts in which he wasn't sure he even wanted part of.
He gave a slight shake of the shackles, giving a small bit of a smile. They were very much like the ones his priest enjoyed using on him, though just the same, he could not escape. Instead, he continue to listen to the others.

Darsis Valdane |

Darsis, noting that the guards do not seem particularly concerned about escape attempts, from the manacles at least, begins to exert himself silently straining against his bonds and keeping his breathing carefully controlled.
I'm going to take 20, if I can get the two minutes required for a 25.

cosmiy |

The bonds are too tight, and even with the heaviest straining it seems these shackles are currently inescapable.
A few moments later the struggles cease, the door to the cell opens. It seems not to be anyone to check up on Lysander, though- instead it is Sergeant Tomas Blackerly. This was the man who branded your arms, laughing as your flesh burned- a fat man dressed in a uniform similar to those of the standard guards but finer, equipped with a longsword, chainmail and other minor items. He seems dazed now as he enters the room, flanked by the guardsman and guardswoman you heard before, along with four other guards. Looking at the six, his eyes rest on Taemon'dow. "There's the one! Get him out of the chains so he can meet his visitor. I don't know what this lovely woman wants with you, but step lively. I don't want to keep her waiting."
At their sergeant's command, the guards get to unchaining Taemon'dow. They hoist him up to his feet, keeping a tight hold on him.

Mavro |

No, no, come to think of it I'm forced to agree. The memories flash before Mavro's eyes, images of cruelty, of sadism and the arbitrary wanton gluttony performed by the prison guards and especially the bloated luddite of a seargent. Mavro's eyes seem to take a mirrored shine at his reminiscing.
"Yes definitely," he says, out loud for the guards and everyone to hear. "there's no doubt the most apt connection is swine."

Lysander Tremayne |

Lysander continues to groan, and as the guard gets up, he even spits a surprisingly large amount of phlegm onto the floor a few feet away, making a sound almost like someone vomiting. When the guards decide not to investigate, though, he quiets down gradually, giving one last cough before ending his charade for the time being. You failed again, boy... But what did you learn from your failure?
"At least one guard is gullible, then," he whispers, just loud enough for the other prisoners to hear. "That usually means slower, weaker, less disciplined... An easy target. The woman is tougher... And here they come." He blinks and looks up.
When Blackerly walks in, Lysander frowns at the look on his face. Dazed, boy--what causes it? A knock over the head, an illness--or being overwhelmed mentally. The glistening man looks down at the floor as they take Taemon'dow. A visitor, Lysander--he has a visitor--but criminals in Branderscar don't get visitors, you half-wit.

cosmiy |

The guards try to avoid prisoners, and even if you could attack them, they would be just out of range.
Sergeant Blackerly glares at Marvo, but doesn't say anything- he's heard it all before. He and the others escort Taemon'dow to a meeting room a little down the hall. The other guards stop at the door, only letting the Sergeant take Taemon'dow in.
Inside the room is a hauntingly beautiful woman, with platinum blonde, almost white hair, and bright green eyes filled with tears. She's dressed in a beautiful black gown and a soft silk veil, and the combination makes it seem as if she's just been to a funeral. She seems both relieved and sad to see Taemon'dow. "Oh, dearest, I'm so relieved you're still alive!" Turning to the Sergeant, she adds, "Can you leave us alone for a moment, sir? For pity's sake?"
Blackerly pauses for a moment, his expression blank and frozen. Then he replies, "Of course, ma'am. For you there's no problem."
The Sergeant leaves, and the woman smiles, giving up all pretense of a grieving woman. She speaks now as if she's rehearsed. "Don't remember me, dearest? Of course not. Call me Tiadora. We possess a mutual friend who would like to get in contact with you and your cellmates- however, he is not going to visit you in your... present condition. So you'll have to escape."
"After you leave, cross the moors on the outskirts of town. Past them will be a manor house with one lantern burning on the second story. There our mutual friend waits."
She takes off her veil and wipes her fake tears with it, then hands it to him.
"Something to remember me by."

Taemon'dow |

After a moment, Taemondow stashes the veil, secreting it on his person. Then he steps closer to the lady, taking a hand and looking deeply into her eyes.
"My apologies lady; you have been kind. It is a kindness in itself just to have a visit from such a vision while in this place. As we are alone for the time being, care to help me cement some last memories? Spending one's last moments with a woman as beautiful as you might make even this death worth it. Such a vision of loveliness, a touch from you would send me careless and smiling to my end, no matter how gruesome." Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (20) + 12 = 32
What a time for a natural 20!

cosmiy |

"I'm afraid your time is up, my lady." he tells Tiadora.
"No, I can't bear to leave him!" Again she seems grieving and upset, an almost perfect change. Looking deep into the Sergeant's eyes she says, "There's no need to search my dearest. You've been such a good friend."
"Such a good friend." repeats Blackerly, entranced by the woman. Then he snaps out of it and bows. "It was a pleasure, ma'dam." One of the guards escorts Tiadora out of the room politely, as the others grab Taemon'dow. As they both leave, their eyes meet one last time, and she gives him a wicked smile. <<Three days,>> echoes her voice telepathically, <<Don't disappoint me, dearest.>> And so the guards take Taemon'dow up the cell, shackling and locking him once more.
Despite the shackles, he can still reach the veil...

Taemon'dow |

Taemon'dow looks pensive as he's led back the cell and rechained to the others.
Who the hell was that? Wouldn't have thought there was a woman in Talingarde who could have resisted the look I gave her, even looking like a do... and that kiss; what was she?
I suppose if I'm going to get out of here I'm going to need some assistance; allies at best, fodder at worst. What was the point of that veil... it looks like it bears the mark of my Lord, so maybe it is his agents that sent the woman. If it bears his symbol, perhaps it could be used as such, though I guess the odds of one of these being one of his clerics, capable of channeling his blessing, is too much to hope for. But, nothing ventured...
Waiting until the guards retreat back beyond earshot, Taemon'dow turns to address his companions, "Well now, that was interesting. Seems someone on the outside has taken interest in us. Since we're sharing a cell, perhaps we should get to know each other. Our fates seem to be tied for now. I am Taemondow. Once a knight of the holy orders, and ignorant servant of Mitra, I have since gained enlightenment, of a sort. Worth it if you ask me, even if it has landed me here. So. Who are you to end up chained to a heretic and murderer?"

Mavro |

"Today is a grave day, for today is the day we discover ourselves." - Mikael Nedes, The Lamentations of Lemarque.
"Fiends, swindlers and psychopaths. There was a time I was naive enough to believe these petty dregs could never exist in a society as perfect as the picturesque Talingarde, but look at me now, not only among theives but alongside them. They are the definition of lowly perversion, but shall I consort with them, the offspring of my societal enemy? These foul creatures epitomize the loathfull decadence that has befallen an agent of perfection, an ideal that, regretfully, never even existed in the first place."
"They are foul and puny creatures... but to fight our enemy, we must play upon their strengths. They are their own enemy. We shall strike upon them with their own sword..." As loathe as I am to trust anything that dreadful Hoi ever taught me, there are some wisdoms to be had. Yes, I will work with these savages. If I escape, I will finally make this hellish system rue the day it succumbed to its ignorance. I will exact my retribution... by showing the swine just what they are... just what barbarism truly is.
At the single mention of the word, "enlightenment," Mavro picks his head up. He begins his story to the ex-Knight.
"Exhilarated I am, for I am always welcome to meet with the... enlightened sort. I have already stated my name. I am a convict wrongly accused of witchcraft, of which I have performed no such thing. These are a vile courts with which we deal, who will convict and execute at the drop of a hat if it feeds their bloodlust and it excuses their xenophobic natures."
"In actuality, through a... roundabout manner, I am a man of philosophy and science. I have some certain skills that could be useful if what you say is true and we have a mutual benefactor on our side... provided we have a means of escape that is."

Katrin Whitebranch |

Ah, finally talk of escape. Or at least hints of it.
"I am Katrin. If it means escape and vengeance on Talingarde, then you have my help as well." The big blonde's voice is surprisingly pleasant, a dichotomy with the haughty, icy look she has pasted across her face all the time. Her next words are filled with venom, "I am but a lowly woman as you can see." She thrusts forward her large chest, in case there was any doubt. "But some say that I fight passing well."

Gunter Gruden |

Gunter had not thought that anyone would be getting visitors in this desolate place. In fact, he had nearly come to terms with dying here, as he had not the strength nor general will to attempt an escape. While Taemon'dow was gone, the youth finally opened his eyes, looking to see who was beside him. The woman to his right seemed down right frightening, with her constant struggle to get free, and the man to his left was handsome, yes, but not of the same species as he was, he took it.
Either way, he sat in silence until Taemon'dow returned, his eyes closed, and opening once he arrived again. The mentions of a way to escape seemed to peak his interest,just a wee bit, though just the same he was content to die here. When asked about who he was, he shook his head, shifting in his shackles to point to his throat. Perhaps at least someone in this cluster of prisoners, would understand. He could try to reach either of the people to his sides, a simple touch would allow him to communicated but...

Lysander Tremayne |

Enlightenment is a phrase used by fools--weak followers of a weak deity, entrusting Mitra to save them. We know better--the gods do not save you, but offer their blessings when you do their work.
Still, something about Taemon'dow and his demeanor is different... and, he is in Branderscar after all, besides insinuating that only the ignorant follow Mitra. So what do you do about it, young one?
"My name, as I've said, is Lysander Tremayne. As for why I'm here..." The glistening man hesitates for a moment. They'll find out sooner or later, boy--may as well tell them, gauge their responses. "...I attempted a 'great and heinous crime' against Talingarde.
"I attempted to assassinate Markadian V, the fool pig king."
Lysander looks at the faces of the other prisoners, doing just as suggested: gauging their reactions to his proclamation.

Darsis Valdane |

Darsis nods,
"And I am Darsis Valdane, they call me Deathdealer, which has a certain ring to it, but misses the point. I am here for roasting my former employer, carving him up and selling him for sausage meat - he cheated me, broke his own rules. But I do not kill people, only those animals who let the world dictate to them. I am a swordsman. I am a butcher. I do not know how they caught me, but they have will pay for it, Talingarde, and Mitra both."

Katrin Whitebranch |

"I suppose I can confess to you louts, if everyone is doing it." Katrin says. "There were a couple of men who thought they could treat me like chattel, I introduced their rear ends to their own blades. Then to ice the cake, after I was brought here I killed a writer for his insinuations about my desires."

Gunter Gruden |

Perhaps no one had really noticed what he was doing.. But more likely, they didn't care. It would be rather difficult in escaping with the others if they didn't know about his unfortunate condition. Gunter twisted and contorted his hands, trying to at least make some sort of contact with half-orc beside him. It was not the time to waste his link on the other's here, for during the escape, it might prove much more useful.
A small smile reached his lips as he managed to place a slender finger against the hands of his neighbor, and he allowed his mind to open, for the one he was touching to hear.
Hello... Well, um, yes, hello! I'm very sorry or invading your space, but I cannot talk normally, as you and the other's can. I'm an oracle, and in exchange for my abilities, my god took my speech away. And the only way I can exchange my thoughts is telepathically, via contact with another. I don't want to impede too much on your conversation with the others, so I would just appreciate it greatly if you could tell them that I'm willing to help in escaping in any way I can..
After getting his thoughts across, he quickly moved away from Marvo, back into his own little space, just incase the green one found that he was more of a threat than an ally.

Mavro |

Ice crawls along Mavro's skin as he feels the mute man's touch. His hand ball involuntarily. He stays silent though, listening to his plea without a bat of an eye.
That was more than a little disquieting. The last time I felt the presence of divine magic was at my... capture. I do not trust the introverted fool, but it would be plain idiocy not to use him.
"The mute one tells me he is an oracle and that he is willing to aid in our escape. He is as much ally as any of us here, then.
Tell me, Taemondow, what hopes do we have of breaking these shackles if even our strongest are yet incapable of doing so?"

Lysander Tremayne |

"Indeed," Lysander says. "The greatest of escape plans is useless if we cannot bypass this first obstacle."
An oracle, Lysander! the voice whispers. You are in the presence of an oracle--and to be here, he must be a servant of Asmodeus. Count yourself blessed, boy, for you are in a Chosen One's company.
Lysander leans as far forward as he can until he glimpses Gunter's face, and he nods to him, smiling slightly. "Greetings, Chosen," he says.

Taemon'dow |

"He's an oracle, is he? Of what god? Speaking of which, can he, or anyone else manage to cast Detect Magic, or identify an item? If so, it'll be a start. The lady may have slipped me something, but I'm not sure what we're supposed to do with it yet. She implied it might help with those barriers."
"She gave me a rendezvous point as well. And promised help with hiding, or dealing with any pursuit as well. If we get out, it'll be nice at least to have a place to head for."

Taemon'dow |

"If you'd listen you'd know; muscles cutting off the blood to your ears? She said what she gave me should help, though it doesn't look like anything, so I've asked if any of our esteemed companions can help me figure it out."

Katrin Whitebranch |

-_-' Your post ninja'd mine. It wasn't there when I wrote that. Notice we posted within two minutes of each other. Just ignore my above post and go with this instead.
"Can we have a look at it? What is it?" Katrin asks Teamon'dow.

Darsis Valdane |

Darsis listen in silence nodding, and speaking slowly again,
"Assume the Lady is not a fool. If she did not instruct you in its use then it must be simple. Our immediate problem is our shackles, try applying it to them."

Taemon'dow |

Looking around and waiting as long as necessary to make sure the guards are not looking, Taemon'dow pulls the veil out from the sleeve of his shirt. He unfolds it and holds it so the others can see, but he does not pass it to anyone.
"This mark looks almost like that of the Lord of Darkness; Asmodeus."
A thin slip of cloth like this has no obvious function to me unless it is magic, or if it meant to function as a symbol of the Dark Prince. Of course, the chances of there being a cleric dedicated to him in any company is probably slim, if perhaps a little less slim given where we are." He looks at his companions questioningly...
To Darsis he says, "You have a point; however foolish it makes me feel, I will do as you say and give it a try."
Taemon'dow then takes the veil and tries draping it over his chains, the locks thereon, and if that doesn't achieve anything, rubbing it on them.

Lysander Tremayne |

Intelligence: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3 Derp.
Still trying to catch the attention of the oracle, Lysander gives a passing glance to the veil. "I know nothing of this. It looks like a decorated scarf, the kind worn at special events. A favor of her affection?" the man guesses.

cosmiy |

Darsis figures out how the veil probably works- the pictures can be taken off, and they will probably turn into the real items somehow.

Darsis Valdane |

Darsis stares at the veil for another long moment and then says,
"See if you can remove the thieves tools patch, if it works as I think and you can get them to me I can free these cuffs."
Darsis only has +5 Disable Device, but I think that's equal to Lysander's so he might as well go for it. Do Soulknife's get trapfinding in PF? Because that would be darn handy, Darsis does not get it until 3rd.

Katrin Whitebranch |

Soon as I saw the picture I figured you could peel the stuff off, but I didn't want to meta-game. Glad one of the characters got the same idea :)
Int check 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (16) - 1 = 15
"A veil?" Katrin asks with one eyebrow raised. "I hope you're right Darsis. I know little of magical face coverings, but your idea seems logical."