Barnabas nods his thanks to Sarela and then bolts after the others into the moor.
Sarela runs after the others, sheathing her sword as she goes. As they approach the edge of the moors, she pulls out the map she took from the Warden's office and says, "Stay close, everyone. We can get through the moor quickly and hopefully without issue if we follow this map."
Eowithe keeps pace with the others, "Yes, straight through the moor, hopefully the Warden and his men are too wary to follow..."
Demian rushes over to contribute his genius to the effort.
Though she revived training in 6je uses of cartographic drawings and devices, she's too preoccupied with evading the prison guys to be of any use.
Barnabas puts his two cents in.
Demian suddenly appears next to Sarela to read the map, and she says, "Oh, there you are. I'd hoped we hadn't left you behind."
Running in to the moor with Blackerly not far behind, you are able to take a quick moment once you are out of the guards' sight to look at the map. Together you manage to put together your location and which way you need to head based on landmarks you can see. Your quick teamwork has gained you a head start and you soon are away from Blackerly again. They will have to rely on the guard dog to pick up your scent and follow you.
Every now and then you hear the guard dog bark as it has your scent. It seems like it is getting closer but not close enough to see it yet. After a while of running, quick stops to check the map then dashing on ahead through the moor, ahead of you is a shallow but wide stream. It looks boggy. Crossing it could increase the distance between you and the guards greatly and perhaps even cause them to lose your trail. There is no need to swim, the water will barely come to your waist, but there is some danger of getting stuck in the boggy ground, possibly allowing the guards to catch up. Perhaps there is a narrower, safer place to cross somewhere else, but you would not gain any distance from the guards.
Seeing an opportunity to lose the patrol, Barnabas takes to the stream, trying his best to be quick and nimble, so as to not become stuck fast in the sucking mud.
Demian winces at the sight of the muck, but rushes forward as well.
Morthos takes to the stream as well, unconcerned of muck or anything else. Clearly keeping his concentration upon escape.
After some effort, everyone makes it across except Morthos who manages to get himself stuck. This takes several minutes to help him out, allowing the guards to catch up. As you are leaving they come across the stream and see you. It will take them time to cross but now they are closer than before.
Rushing on into the moor, you hear the hounds baying as they follow your trail.
After a while, you come past a fetid pool, one of many so far, surrounded by bushes. Barnabus notices a large creature hiding in one of the bushes you will soon walk past.
Barnabas holds up a hand, signalling for the party to pause, and points towards the bushes.
"Hold a moment, do you see that? There's something in the shrubs over there. We should swing wide of this pool to avoid any further delays."
Nodding, "Agreed. Wide it is."
You skirt wide of the pool and the reeds and bushes hiding the creature, a slight detour won't cost you much time.
A little while later you hear the hounds baying die off. Did they give up? Did you somehow gain more distance? Did something happen to the hound? Whatever it is, going back to find out is probably a bad idea. You continue on.
After another tiring hour of slogging through the moor you come at last upon the Old Moor road. It is barely a road by any standard but the ground is firmer and clearer and easier to traverse.
It is not long before you see a light in the distance. It is attached to a large manor on a small hill. Painted a dark green and surrounded by barbed wrought iron fencing, nothing about this place seems inviting or a sanctuary. Still, it is your destination. Where will you go if not here? You have an appointment to keep. Best not to keep your nameless benefactor waiting...
At the door of the manor house, you are met by Tiadora still in the guise of the green-eyed woman. The only difference is her dress. She no longer looks like she is destined for a funeral. Instead she wears a diaphanous white gown that makes her look almost angelic. When she speaks, any illusions about her angelic character are quickly dispelled.
“Dearest, you took long enough,” she says pitilessly. “We were beginning to wonder if you’d ever make it. Oh, and you brought friends. The master commands all of you to appear before him but before that, you must be made presentable. Slaves!”
She claps her hands. A dozen young attractive men and women all wearing very traditional servant’s livery appear quickly, their heads bowed. "These people are our guests,” she commands imperiously. “See them to their rooms. I want them cleaned, dressed and refreshed. Quickly.” There is something in that last word that sounds like a threat. Certainly the slaves take it that way, hustling to perform their duties.
Tiadora
Demian bows elegantly when the crew approaches and sees Tiadora.
He gratefully accepts the servants' efforts to clean himself up.
Demian's eyes seem to be attracted to one of the young woman servants, and follows her about her business. Again, a strange thirst for blood wells in his chest, causing his mouth to water profusely. He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths as he is being cleaned, suppressing the feeling.
Barnabas bows as well, "Apologies lady, but we encountered some difficulties during our trip. A bath would be most welcome."
He licks his lips and glances and throat of a slave. "And perhaps refreshments?"
Regardless of the reply, Barnabas allows himself to be led to his room, relishing the chance to be clean and in fresh clothes once more.
Morthos nods and follows the slaves, allowing them to do as they are instructed. Finally. I can now be far more presentable and proper as I should be.
Sarela studies the woman Tiadora as they approach. This is a woman who knows how to command. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from her.
She follows a female slave to a room, saying, "You will remain nearby to scrub my back and get anything for me. Can you bring me any healing draughts? I am wounded."
Tiadora looks satisfied as each of you are led away through the manor, down hallways and through doors and corridors to your own personal rooms. A slave or two as you selected sees that your needs are met, running baths, fetching clothes, seeing you fed, as well as any other needs you have. Among the food there is a pitcher of wine, infused with a restorative potion, that heals your wounds.
You are all in similar rooms nearby each other. Grumblejack was lead away to different, less luxurious accommodations.
Slanted golden eyes stared at an outstretched arm, gazing at the burned fur around the terrible charred flesh caused by branding. Despite matted and disheveled wine-colored fur and a sleek light green dress, at one point magnificent but now torn to near shreds, the Kitsune almost manages to make prison life look dignified. Almost.
"Forgery," came the quiet, soothing voice of the Kitsune. Despite being soft spoken, her words commanded attention. Her eyes flitted from the brand on her arm to the group before flicking back. "Apparently, when you fool most of the upper class in order to lead a better, more prosperous life, they consider you to be a criminal." She scoffed. "All the advantages in the world and they're too busy posturing to do or learn anything worthwhile."
With a shake of her head, the Kitsune finally puts her arm down. Although her fur was in the way, it was easy to tell that she was not made for physical labor. She was small. If she stood straight up she wouldn't even breach five feet, and even with all that hair it was questionable if she would reach one hundred pounds soaking wet. The punishment for forgery was a lifetime in the mines. Death was almost preferable to someone who would obviously suffer in that condition. However, the Kitsune looked more disappointed than angry when she looked back on her time before being caught.
"It is good to be gone from that wretched place," Sophia says, seemingly unperturbed by Tiadora's mannerisms and tone. "And they have all been very helpful in escaping. Why, I would almost expect some of them to be natural born killers."
Sophia is one of the first to move when the slaves are ordered to help. She isn't picky about who she gets. "You best know how to get grime and blood out of fur," she says to whomever was chosen to help her. "I won't accept anything less than perfection." With her expectations or of the way, Sophia hands her pack of things to the slave and hobbles along, using her cane to help expedite her trip to a bath.
As she bathed, Sophia luxuriated in the feeling of being catered to that she had sorely missed in these past couple of days. When a hand ran over her new brand, she winced but assured the female slave helping her that it wouldn't be held against her.
Her thoughts went dark, however. That was two imperfections now. Sophia lifted her bad leg, staring at it with displeasure evident in her gaze. Before the prison, she had tried not to agitate it, and attempted to make her stride as graceful as possible without making it evident that she needed assistance. It throbbed now, a dull pain that fully reminded her of the betrayal that stranded her here.
Sophia shook her head. The present was in front of her, and there was a lot to do. Her eyes turned to the male slave she had claimed on the other side of the room. She had put him to work ensuringthe clothes she had taken from the Warden's closet were clean and a hole for her tail was added (if he had any tailoring experienc), that the Warden's ring was polished and ready for wear, and that her hanbo was in pristine condition.
Before Sophia removed herself from the bath, she ordered the male to go gather her paper, ink, and a quill. Prestidigitation allowed her to dry quickly despite her fur, and she was dressed and eating in no time. While she waited for their benefactor to call on them, Sophia began scribing copies of the documents showing that Blackerly was taking money from the prison. She inflated the numbers slightly, making the evidence more apparent to the average person that their Brandescar Prison had been run by those who were just as crooked as those they locked up there.
Time passed quickly for her as her attention turned away from the food and she became absorbed in her work as she waited.
Once Morthos is bathed and dressed in a far more appropriate fashion, he pours himself a deep glass of wine before sitting and relaxing a moment. As he takes a proper drink, he looks around the room, taking in the sight of his current accommodation. If this room is any indication of the owner, then this should turn out to be quite interesting. We shall see.
After several minutes, he sets down his wine and rises. Moving to the mirror he makes sure he looks appropriate by straightening this and adjusting that. His long black hair, he notices, has finally returned to its resplendent self. A slight grin forms before, "Perfect." Turning from the mirror, Morthos returns to his seat and takes another drink. I wonder how much longer we are to wait?
Barnabas gives the room a quick once over, not exactly trusting the situation, but with little other option available, he takes advantage of what is offered.
He takes his time with the bath, allowing the hot water to loosen his sore muscles and wash off the grim of his imprisonment. He takes special care to check where his tentacle is grafted on, always on the alert for infection or rejection.
Once clean and dressed, altering the provided clothes to suit his unique physique, he eats lightly. The food is of the finest quality, but in his mouth, all food is little more than bland paste. None can hold a candle to the coppery tang of blood. The presence of the slaves is tempting, but in deference to his unknown benefactor, he leaves them untouched and sips at the wine instead.
Refreshed and presentable, he waits for his summons.
...slaves...master...guest..., Demian ponders with his eyes closed as his straight, platinum hair is being delicately tended to. His thin body lies sprawled over the arm and the rest of the couch, its pasty color and lithe appearance giving off a look of fragility.
...broke criminals out of the jail intended for the worst crimes..., he continues to ponder. ...few benefactors would recruit from such places...curious...
After some more grooming and adding a pleasant aroma, Demian dresses in the most opulent clothes he can.
When he walks out of his room his over shoulder length hair cascades over the laid-down collar of a cutaway green jacket with brass buttons. Beneath is a green vest with matching dark-gold trim and a white neck cloth. His dark-gold breeches are interrupted at the knee with dark brown boots. In addition to that frippery, he was also decked in bracelets, a necklace, white gloves, glasses sticking out of a vest pocket, and a matching green and dark-gold hat in one hand. In the other hand he cradles a glass of red wine.
Demian looks back and forth down the hall to see if any more have emerged.
Ivy finds her room without too much difficulty but declines the aid of a servant. While she had no personal objection to slaves in general, she was a naturally suspicious individual. The slaves owed their loyalty to Tiadora or the Master of the house, not Ivy, and she was concerned they would report back to either party with any observations. If there was one thing Ivy despised, it was giving out free information, and while Tiadora had helped them escape, her attitude indicated that she did not seem them as nothing more than allies at best.
Ivy runs a bath for herself, and washes herself, taking particularly care to ensure her apperance was as perfect as she could make it. First impressions counted for something, and as people tended to place a high value on apperance, Ivy made sure to look as attractive as possible. She robes herself in a flowing black dress - contrasting with Tiadora's white outfit, and plays around with various scents until she finds something she likes.
When finished, she uses any spare time to attempt to research the formula or poison that had been used on them in prison, in an attempt to try and replicate it. Ivy figured that such a thing might take time, but it was better to get a head start on it as soon as possible.
Wounds, weariness and dirt are washed away by your baths and trays filled with food and restorative drinks. Only a few hours later you are well dressed again and wondering what is next.
Some of you don't wait but take action straight away. Sophia forges documents that hope to bring Blackerly low, such crimes could see him punished and branded as you were.
Ivy begins studying the tincture that the Warden had used to suppress your magic. It will take some time.
After several hours of rest and relaxation, Tiadora returns and calls you all to follow her. Through the manor she walks, down corridors and through doors to the main wing of the manor. At last Tiadora leads you to a beautifully appointed office richly decorated with dark wood and sumptuous brocade tapestry. Sitting in a leather high-backed chair is a devilishly handsome fellow who smiles as you enter. “I believe you to be the first to ever escape from Branderscar Prison. Well done! Of course, you had help from the outside,” he says with a wicked smile. “But enough with the pleasantries. You must be curious why I’ve helped you. Rest assured this is no random act of altruism. I have brought you here for a reason. My name is Cardinal Adrastus Thorn. I am the last high priest of Asmodeus left on the island of Talingarde. Once the Prince of Nessus was rightly revered alongside the other great powers. Now, the king of Talingarde has become a puppet to Mitran fanatics who wish to destroy any religion that does not bow to their insipid sun god. For their blasphemy, I will see the same people who imprisoned and condemned you suffer. I understand what you went through for I have faced it myself."
With that, he pulls down the sleeve of his robe and reveals his own runic ‘F’ brand. "I am going to burn Talingarde to the ground and from the ashes I will build a new nation that knows its rightful master. I cannot do this alone. I seek servants worthy of our Infernal Father’s majesty. Have I found them in you?" He rises and his eyes flash with hellfire and divine purpose. "Join me! Serve me well in this holy endeavor and I will raise you up in the eyes of gods and men. I will make you princes of the new Talingarde. Today, swear fealty to me and to Asmodeus. Put aside forgiveness and I shall give you vengeance. Put aside mercy and be made powerful. Put aside peace and become my harbingers of war. What say you? Will you swear your allegiance or will you burn with the rest of the blind fools?"
Sophia listens to everything this High Priest had to say, and thinks back on what she's learned of Talinguarde so far. She doesn't respond right away, instead crossing her arms and closing her eyes as she goes deep in thought. A lot of things he said appealed to her, but unlike her time in the prison, she had room to breathe.
It figures..., Demian thinks to himself with a mental sigh. It has been a while since I've had to follow. I've got to rebuild somehow.
Demian takes a small step forward and thrusts a thumb's up at Thorn with his gloved hand. "I'm in!" he exclaims semi-enthusiastically.
Barnabas bows. "Your facilitation of my escape has saved me from certain doom. As such, my life is yours Cardinal. But I have other debts, older debts, debts bound in blood that must be paid. They cannot be forsaken, but in so much as I may offer it, my service is yours."
He bows again.
Finding the man's desires not unlike his own, "Talingarde must burn! AND BURN IT SHALL!" he exclaims with unbridled fervor, showing far more emotion than... well... ever. He then gathers himself as he straightens his dinner jacket and brushes off the sleeves with his hands before asking, "When do we begin?" while smiling maliciously.
"Cardinal Adrastus Thorn! I thought he was dead. What would my father think knowing that I will be working with the Cardinal," Razmir thinks, trying not to seem too excited.
"But of course. I am already sworn to serve the Infernal Father. It would be my honor to serve under you," Razmir says as he steps forward and kneels.
Ivy considers the offer for a moment "I'm perfectly willing to take my revenge, and destroy Talinguarde - burning it to the ground. Milta carries no favor with me and Asmodeus can rule the city for all I care. That said, what does swearing allegiance to Asmodeus actually entail? What does life under Asmodeus look like? As long as it benefits me and my goals, I'm willing to entertain the idea."
1) You know nothing about him.
2) Asmodeus is the most powerful of the nine archdevils that inhabit Hell, and the only one of Hell's rulers to claim full divinity. It was he who is credited with the penning the contract of creation, within which his followers believe is hidden the means for their patron's eventual rise to supremacy.
3) 80 years ago, House Darius defeated House Barca and King Markadian I won the throne and brought the word of Mitra to all of Talinguarde. He also strengthened Talinguarde in many ways. It was not until his grandson Markadian IV that all other gods were outlawed and their followers and cultists rounded up. The current king, Markadian V continues the policies of his father.
4)Mitra is the god of the sun, as well as law and justice. Mitra requires just and fair treatment of all good beings from his followers, as well as piety and charity. He is often depicted as a noble, strong man of middle years, wearing a pale copper robe and wielding a longsword. Warriors and knights venerate Mitra through great deeds and heroic quests in his name. Commoners show kindness to strangers and help their fellows in times of need. His symbol is a sunburst behind the scales of justice. The noble lion is his sacred creature.
5) You must further Asmodeus' goals and influence. The terms of a specific allegiance will be more detailed. Breaking a contract with Hell can have dire consequences.
The Cardinal laughs, "Why, you will be the new royalty, the mighty heroes that saved Talinguarde out of the clutches of Mitran fanaticism. You will have anything you desire once Talinguarde falls."
The Cardinal smiles as you accept. "Excellent. Let us make it official. Signing in blood is traditional." He brings out a quill, a silver ritual knife and two copies of a contract written on some unidentifiable leather written in dark red ink – the Pact of Thorns.
Sophia remained silent while the rest spoke their piece. She sifted through her thoughts, remembering what she could, and speculating about what she could not. Parts of it sounded great, others less so. Revenge sat strongly on her mind, but she put it aside to make a rational decision. You had to be rational in the face of Asmodeus.
"I can definitely appreciate what you are saying, Cardinal," she started slowly. "And bringing this nation to its knees is something that I would like to participate in. However, being bound indefinitely is... problematic. There are things elsewhere that I must do. It can certainly wait until this massive undertaking is over. I will gladly be the first to sign if you can tell me that we will be allowed freedoms in our position as the Bound that allows us to follow our own paths when Talinguarde falls to its new master, Asmodeus. I've already taken your promise of royalty as a verbal promise, but not all royals are given freedom, as you well know. "
Morthos doesn't hesitate a moment. He gathers the knife, gives a quick slice to the palm of his hand and signs the pact in his own blood. Once finished, "Now... when do we begin?" he asks again in his typical calm-like fashion.
Demian also steps forward and grabs the quill. With obvious flair, he uses it to sign the Compact. After, he pricks a finger slightly and presses it into the paper to dot the "i".
"We are going to have so much fun together!"
Barnabas' nostrils flare at the scent of blood that fills the air as reads over contract.
"This is acceptable."
Taking the knife, he slices his forearm, using the blood bind himself to the pact. He smiles in satisfaction as the wound heals almost immediately.
Razmir reads over the contract. "Seems fairly standard," he says as he pricks his finger to use as a quill to sign his name.
The Cardinal smiles in a way that must be meant to be fatherly towards Sophia. "My dear, your position will be privileged. You will need to answer only to me and none else. Once Talinguarde falls and we make it anew, you will be more free to pursue your desires than ever before. I already have more than enough mindless slaves here."
After each of you has signed, using your blood to seal the pact, Thorn gives one copy to you to keep and takes the other. “Well done. Your first command: prepare yourselves. Stay within the manor. You are still hunted by the Talirean soldiery. In three days we begin your training.”
Tiadora sees you back to your rooms, though you are commanded only to stay within the manor. She gives each of you a sack of 100 gold coins to help you get equipped. You need only give your requests to the slaves and they will take them to her and she will acquire the items and equipment you wish to purchase.
"As you say, Master Thorn," Sophia says with a sweeping bow.
She then turns to her companions and performs a less substantial bow. "If anyone needs me, I will be falling asleep immediately upon returning to my chambers. But in the morning, you can find me there resting." With a less substantial bow than towards Thorn, Sophia excuses herself.
The bitter sweet smell of blood becomes too much for Demian to handle. He closes his eyes and raises the rim of his wine glass to his nose and takes several large whiffs.
Ivy simply signs the contract and accepts a copy which she stores safely. She is grateful at the small gold investment she has received, but decides to avoid any purchases until she knows what tasks will be set ahead of time.
Instead, she uses the time to research the alchemical formula that had kept the drugged so she could potentially manufacture her own supply, while draining the toxin running through her blood, as well as the venom from her familiar and storing it in a containing each day for future use.
Over the next three days you are able to sufficiently rest and recover, with the service of the slaves to see to whatever you desire, passing your money and requests to Tiadora who is able to come and go without risk and acquire any items you wish to purchase. You are commanded only to stay within the Manor and away from the Cardinal's personal apartments.
It is evident that you are not alone in the Manor. Besides the slaves and Tiadora—there are a few others about. In another wing, there are four more new recruits of the Cardinal's. 3 men, led by a mysterious and beautiful woman.
Sophia will not leave her room much and her routine becomes apparent on the second day. A bath and breakfast in the morning followed by an hour in whatever passes as a library her. Topics pertaining to Asmodeus and Thorn's group were of particular interest to her. After that, she spends some time outside reading, preferably on a balcony but a chair at ground level worked well enough.
Like breakfast, lunch was had in her room and she would disappear until dinner. Inside, she would continue reading and practicing magic or skills. Several pieces of parchment and ounces of ink will be gathered for her as she writes a memoir of leaving Brandescar Prison behind. Given time, she will go through several drafts.
Sophia would reappear for dinner and eat it in the dining room. Unless something caught her interest, she would eat and return to her room. She was not against conversation, but she would make it very clear if she thought it was wasting her time.
When word of another group reached her ears, she would ask her slave pair on information about them.
Barnabas spends his time snooping about and restocking his alchemical supplies
Seeing that the former prisoners are not the only guests currently residing in the Cardinal's manor, Barnabas seeks them out, wanting to take measure of others that finds themselves in the Asmodean's service.