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?
Doot
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The young lass seems to be in one of her more playful moods. She keeps kicking out to watch the ripple flow through the leg chains. It's almost as if she is unaware of her impending death.
A huge mass of fat and muscle stands chained to the wall, radiating a smell of sweat, dirt, waste and grease that clogs nostrils.
Agghh silently stood there, his eyes occasionally looking over to the others and gazing at a scrawny cat that sat in the corner, looking all smug and evil as it looked at his wretched state.
Aghh sighed, if only he had died with his kin back then. Out hunting, they had been ambushed by scouts of that wretched human empire and slain almost to the last. It seems that he was 'lucky' that he survived enough to be dragged away and yelled at and kicked as some beast. Sentenced to die for the crime of existing.
Equally chained towards the back of the cells was Leralesti. The svirfneblin had her eyes closed, humming to herself as if trying to stay focused. She was of average height for her species - which was still considerably small near the medium creatures around.
Her skinny arms, neck and legs were barely tight by the magical chains, just enough to limit her movements - but, worse for her, enough to limit her magic as well. She knew, and they knew, this was the right way to keep her contained. Her farce eventually caught up to her, as she remembered the spies catching her in the act of divulging Asmodean heresies to the Mitran folk.
Back to the present, she then smiles momentarily; she was to be sent to burn in the firepits, and found it amusing how little they would need to complete the job. Maybe the fire would escape and burn this entire forsaken place to the ground, including these disgraced souls around her.
The eyes open. Yellow, bright, scary and crazed as a deaf bat in the dark. She looks around, deeply analyzing the other prisoners. Some of them would likely be useful, circumstances were different. She keeps her silence, though, as thoughts once again start to surf through her memories.
Across the cell Wiktor stretches his sallow, gaunt body between the tethered chain at his feet and the shackles above his head. His lanky form hangs, allowing the fetters to take his weight as he shifts and sways.
Slowly his head turns, at a slightly odd angle to survey his fellow prisoners. A rictus grin spreads over Wiktor’s lean features revealing a mouth full of pointed teeth, punctuated by gaps where some are absent after the guards welcoming committee.
The bruised smile becomes a wheezing giggle, which only makes your ghoulish cellmate all the more macabre.
”Heheheh. I cannot feel hands. Soon I will not feel head. This is funny no?”
Wiktor nods toward the orcish brute across the cell;
”Vhat about you Big Orc? Axe or pyre?”
Ahhh eyeballs the little human as he is addressed. Axe. Seems they don't want why stench filling the place. Agghh yanks at his chain in futile effort.
Wiktor sickly green eyes widen and he emits a giggle;
”I think they vill not hack off orc head from thick neck in one swing…”
Shifting his long arms, Wiktor turns his gaze towards the other condemned prisoners…
”Vhat about rest of you? I and Orc have axe.”
The girl seems to change at this, stopping playing with the chain and curling up her posture like she aged sixty years in a moment. She speaks with the tired voice of an old man. "Axe here. I spent decades fighting the monarchy and nobody ever got nicked. Once I kick the bucket, the whole group gets caught in three years. If I'd have known I woulda gone through with lichdom to keep the idiots in check."
She straightens out, holding her body poised and still in the chains. Her voice becomes as smooth as glass. "If you'd have told me that, I could have helped. We could always use an eternal agent."
Audi ibn Jad sighs. He nods in acceptance of the ancestors' continuous prodding.
Standing to his feet, stretching, and yawning, Audi ibn Jad turns to face those others occupying his cell.
So, we were thinking....
The 1/2 orc attempts to stand and turn to face his cellmates, but the chains, shackles, and limited personal space has seen to make that gesture wanting....
Gray hairless skin painted and powdered white, the 6 and a half foot tall 1/2 orc does indeed look like he belonged here. Ritual scarring and tattoos cover his exposed grey flesh. He turns his blue eyes to stare at the other orc, the sharp-teeth, gangly human?, the easily identifiable svirfneblin and grins.
Looks like we are in the right place.
The Ancestors scream and cry loudly with raucous laughter! Their constant voices shouting at him!
Suffer! Suffer for your sins! Witch! Blasphemer! Seditionist! Burn! You will burn! Hahahahaha!
Audi smiles even wider, as the 1/2 orc's blue eyes land on the human girl and catfolk. His voice gravelly and distracted.
You seem to be a bit lost....
Audi is interrupted when the human girl begins to speak as if she were the tired voice of an old man.
The Ancestors laugh even louder! The Witch's grin widens.
Yes. Looks can be deceiving....
A guard walks by on patrol and slides your meager "food" and water into the cell through the slot at floor level and says eat up and lights will be dimmed soon. Be quiet in there when it does and the guard continues on.
As the others speak, Leralesti just keeps her silence. She ogles the guard as he passes, still wordless, and as he's gone she extends her frail arm to pull some chunk of musty bread, which she immediately starts pulling with her teeth. She would eat.
Fire. - she finally speaks, mouth still somewhat full. Her voice is rasped, harsh, emotionless - Burnt, burnt to a crisp. Melting skin and flesh blackening on skinny bones. The invariant smell of a life departing in agony.
Her eyes finally lift to find the others.
Mitra and her lackeys would smile, fat bodies laid over their golden laced chairs. The cynic dance of the blind greater good, while we all know they'd be enjoying it. We are their guilty pleasure, hidden on their false moralism. Yet I know their very souls will be slowly burning, falling as my eyes from their sockets as they meet the pyre.
Still emotionless as she stops, the pause is as sudden as it is sharp. She blinks, looks at the others, and again bites the dull bread.
Aggh eyes the food and then the cat before reaching out for his bread. In a flash, the cat runs out and snatches the bread. Agghh manages to snare a corner and gets a small chunk before losing most of it. Popping it into his mouth, he looks at the gnome.Hah. I'll put the fire out with my melting fat. As for their god, I care not. All will drown in darkness.
The catfolk, her hands completely covered in iron mitts, grimaces at the question of death. "My lovely head is to be lopped clean off! I may have savagely clawed a priest of Iomedae to death, but to deprive this world of my pretty face is the real crime!"
Despite being covered in dirt and grime, and wearing tattered, filthy rags, it's obvious the young lady is in fact quite attractive. Ya know, for a cat person, that is. Her normally bright white fur has become a very dull grey and it's almost impossible to make out her black spots. Her teal eyes somehow manage to shine through, despite the bleakness of the situation.
She Pulls up a chunk of bread, she shifts again. This time she has a grin wider than you'd think possible for a human face. Stuffing a chunk of the hard bread in her mouth she lets it soften without chewing. When it gets to the right consistency, she lets her head back and she spits it at the guard posted outside.
At clangs off of his helmet and drips down, she howls with laughter. "Oi, whatchagonna do to a deader already?! They'll beschnoozle yer knackers if ya killy us before Mitra's BigBigBloodshow! If ya tell the snoozedrones they gotta be nice, then ya gotta give them a someway to get their killhate on. 'Course you could just hurt us fer yer own prideburn, but that way lies BEAUTIFUL MADNESS. Starts with a jab to the kidneybeans of some poor blighter. Then it leads to skinnin' kitties and askin' the devils fer favors. So come on in an' hurt me like Baalzebul commands!"
The guard looks in past the bars to you and your perfectly timed bread toss and then he pulls a lever and al the chains pull tight against the wall and he walks in and picks up each ration of food and water and says prisoner log shows the prisoners of cell block none of your business refuses to eat. and then be pours each ration of food and water over prisoners 1723's head and says say hi to your new friends when the chains go slack again and he walks back out leaving them tight to the wall with you all hanging as if he forgot.
The smooth voice comes back, "I deeply regret not being able to reign that in. You have my apologies."
Wiktor listens intently to the interplay before sniffing at the meagre offerings when the shackles slacken. With long thin arms he prods, then sneers at the food as he mutters to himself;
"Ach. Hard bread. Prefer well dead..."
Before he can partake of the "feast" the girl with many voices provokes a guard with a doughly spit-ball and his gaunt frame is pulled back to the wall.
He turns his sallow face toward the Prisoner 1723 and her garish of water and crumb;
"Vatch out Girl-With-Voices, the Orcs might eat you now..."
Audi Ibn Jad's blue eyes seem to stare off into the distance. A distractedness that isn't even interrupted by a guard walk by on patrol and slides your meager "food" and water into the cell through the slot at floor level..
Nor was the frighteningly scarred 1/2 orc present during the foodball incident and retaliation performance.
Audi Ibn Jad listens to the voices of the Ancestors.
Puppets and pawns! Patroness of pain and pitiful playthings! I am Audi Ibn Jad! Shaman of the Blacken Soul Tribe!
Laughter fills his head, as his body is stretched and strained by the chains.
The 1/2 orc opens his blue eyes. He turns his head to the young girl.
The Ancestors really like you.
When you arrived to this cell you passed through a heavily fortified guard room that led to the various cells with a table and seven guards.
Every so often, a guard will rise from the table, coming over to inspect the cells like the guard previously on patrol, mostly just on the vague hope that one of you may have succumbed already to your conditions and given up hope and life. Each time he does, he lets his leather club run along each bar, a rubbing sound followed by a noise clang each time it snaps forward to strike against the next one. He does it now, and when he reaches the end, he points his club through the bars at the manacled group of you who are talking: "Oy, do ya want me to go down t' the kennel and put a muzzle on ya? Because if ya don't stop I have no problems treatin' a beast like you like a dog. Yer all but telin' me ya're one anyway."
Before he can make good on his threat, the door opens, something you've come to expect on a strict schedule but this is far too early in the guard rotation. Six guards emerge and enter the space in front of your cell, heavily armed and led by the fat and well-dressed sargeant of the watch, Blackerly. Everything about him screams of toadiness and greed, and seeing his face again brings back memories of the brands whose marks still sting on your arms. He was laughing at your cries, mocking and insulting you as your skin burned, although the fiery hiss of the brand and the searing pain that followed dulled your senses too much to make out the exact words.
But now, he seems different. Dazed, his eyes a little too blank, jaw slack for reasons other than the general lack of intelligence that earns someone with connections a post this owly. He comes in and points directly toward the group "You there! That's the scum! Get 'em unshackled from the wall. 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."
Agghh grunts as he is pulled back to the wall and eyes the girl before snorting and replying to Wiktor. Eh...stringy. Better off as stock.
When Blackerly enters, Agghh glares at him before looking puzzled. Me? He looks at the group, wondering if any of them is getting pointed at.
Talia attempts to grab some of the food, and manages a small gulp before one of the other girls spits at the guard. She gets yanked back via her chains, letting out a muffled, strangled yelp.
Despite being fully shackled even more tightly against the wall, the catfol manages to ever so slightly twist, turn and contort her body. The end result doesn't appear to be any different, yet she somehow *seems* more comfortable.
Then Blackery enters, and mentions a visitor. Talia faces brightens considerably "Ah! That would be my dear auntie! I was always her favorite, it's so nice of her to come wish me a final goodbye. I'll truly miss her."
Audi's eyes turn to the System's maggot, Blackerly, as the government employee enters the cell block surrounded by goons. The 1/2 orc nods in agreement to the Ancestors' whisperings of something odd happening here.
Audi Ibn Jad shakes away the constant buzzing of voices to look directly at the Toadie.
The wicked too-big grin returns, but as she's pulling breath to start another tirade she goes rigid. A moment later the smooth voice returns. "Thank you Sergeant Blackerly. I appreciate this small kindness."
Wiktor perks up at the prospect of being unshackled, shifting his limbs expectedly like some lanky spider in a web of chains.
At Blackery's words he giggles once again;
"A fine lady you say? I not know many of them... that are not in graves! Heh. Heheh."
At the last moment you are sure that the guards mean all of you but that the catfolk has convinced Blackery to take her his eyes fall upon Audi and the guards grab him and disconnect him from the wall and drag him away.
Burning time Witch! Prepare yourself for the fires of Pharasma! Cleanse your filthy soul!
The 1/2 orc smiles.
When he realises that no release will be forthcoming, the gaunt wretch's smile tightens...
"Just the orc? Nothing for poor Wiktor?"
Rictus grin, his eyes narrow;
I vill dine on your bloated corpses. Oh the feast.
Leralesti limits herself to scratch lightly behind her neck. She grins, silently, not really in the mood of being as loud as her companions - maybe she was grumpier than the average. Maybe he will meet the flames before he thought he would..., she thought, ... and maybe his fat will cast all their log out. Meh, I doubt it. I have a feeling he will burn fast to a crisp and they'll still have more than enough for me. Half-orcs seem to burn particularly quick. I hope the smell is still there when they pull me in.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Aghhh is longing more and more for his home. Caught with this bunch of maniacs. That jabbering human just won't shut up and Agghh hopes they burn him instead of the axe so his last moments on this world are quiet.
Audi:
You are escorted roughly to a meeting room down the hall and shoved into a chair. There waiting for you, is a hauntingly beautiful woman in an elegant black dress and soft silken veil. She looks as if she is headed to a funeral. Her hair is so platinum as to almost be white and her eyes are a vibrant almost unearthly green. She clearly has been weeping.
“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?”
The guard who brought you in goes blank for a bit and then quickly agrees. “Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.” You can clearly tell that somehow this woman has power over the guard.
As soon as the guards leave, the woman's 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.”
Her message delivered, she grows impatient to leave.
Audi Ibn Jad seems to be listening to the strange woman at the same time he is listening to someone else.
The Lady speaks to you! You are filth! How are you worthy! Burning is what you deserve!
The Witch's blue eyes just stare at the woman with equal curiosity and amusement.
The 1/2 orc grins at Tiadora .
The Ancestors want me to listen to you. Burning being the alternative, I am inclined to acquiesce to your request.
Audi takes the offered veil with a raised eyebrow.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
That jabbering human just won't shut up and Agghh hopes they burn him instead of the axe so his last moments on this world are quiet.
The woman stands up and blows you a kiss and says that she hopes you find her care useful and leaves. The guards act as if you never received it and pick you up and drag you back to the common room with your friends where they pull everything tight, ensure everyone is chained in right, and leave.
[Ooc]it looks to be some sort of transmutation and you swear just before it is shoved in your pocket you see it has patches.
Aghh looks at Audi when they are alone once more. So, did Granny come and give you some fresh cookies?
Audi Ibn Jad stoically allows himself to be carried along back to the cells, as his mind is continually bombarded with incessant screams from the Ancestors.
The 1/2 orc's blue eyes only stare ahead until the guards depart for their donuts.
He just stares back at the other orc, while he takes the cloth from his shirt.
The Witch studies it a bit more carefully.
He secretly asks,
Anyone still can see magic?
Aghh shakes his head.
"Not with these chains. What does it look like?"
Idly dangling in his chains, Wiktor looks up as the scarred half-orc poses a curious question.
His luminous eyes narrow as he mulls a hisspered answer;
"Vith chains or vithout, Wiktor cannot. No he cannot."
Leralesti looks with curiosity as the half-orc is brought back.
She understands his secret message perfectly, yet doesn't speak anything. She limits to look at him deeply in the eyes, then shake her head negatively without blinking. Her powers were dampened in this place, and she hated every minute of it.
Why? - she finally whispers back, trying to be secretive as well. His question had been curious...
Aghh whispers.What is that cloth?
Audi ibn Jad glances over at the orc and Svirfneblin. The scarred 1/2 orc lifts the cloth.
Tis be a gift from the mysterious Lady Tiadora. It looks as if it has patches on it. Shall I pull one?
The scarred witch doctor does look ready to....
"Yes! Pull the stringie! Let it all unravel! I want to see." She leans over with her grin and peers at the cloth.
Might as well
Wiktor shifts, suddenly more curious about half orc's proposal and encouragement from his fellow inmates.
He adds his own excited voice to the groups;
"Pick a patch! Do any look like a nice, ripe corpse?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Laterr...eat later.
Her natural curiosity getting the better of her, Talia suggests "Ooh, you have to pull all the patches! Who knows what sorts of shinies might be hidden with?!"
You all look at the veil with multiple patches carefully and this is what you note that there is ten minutes every three hours in which the guards rotate from shift and that there is no guard in the small circular area around your cell nor I. The hall leading to the guard chamber. You also note that there are ten small gossamer silk patterns on each patch but something is hiding the patches as you look at them: