Minderp's page

Introduction;
Started playing this amazing campaign last year in October. I have always enjoyed writing journal's of our group's exploits, but this campaign really caught me off guard, it has to be my favourite so far. Kudos to Fire Mountain Games. If you haven't played this campaign, i highly recommend it. We haven't finished it yet, only into the third book, but so far it is pretty damn rad.

The journal is written through the eyes of my character, Willow Monteguard, an Unchained Rogue. It follows her story, including i guess what you would call "side missions" of her own, delving into her backstory and personal development. I get a little more involved than most PF players, "obsessive" my DM likes to call it.

Hopefully someone will get enjoyment out of these journals, my group and i certainly have. The writing gets better as the campaign carries on, so bear with me here.
- Mindy

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Prologue – Solecism

Motionless, she sat staring at the blackened oozing flesh on her arm. Bruises covered her stomach and chest, cuts and grazes covered her knees, but not a tear fell from her eyes. She watched as the skin around the wound on her wrist reddened and swelled. As the wound festered, she thought back over the past few years; she needed to know where she went wrong if she was to survive.

Willow Monteguard was raised like any other girl from a noble house in Matharyn. The capital of Talingarde and it's famous Golden Bow, the single richest district in the city, an arc of luxurious manors covering the western edge of the broadest and deepest part of the River Danyth. Equally one of the higher ranking noble houses, the Monteguard's had their city manor in prime location, a large mansion almost three hundred feet wide on the highest point of the riverside. They were part of the infamous Forty Four, the Noble’s Elite of Matharyn. And to be part of the Forty Four was to be on the cusp of the Talirean social scene.
The Monteguard line had been part of Matharyn since the origin of the Markadian reign. Generations had passed through the decades, becoming a staple in Talingarde's history. The current head of the house and Duke of Keldenryn, Bartley Cassidus Rebold Monteguard, was renowned for his abilities as a diplomat. His clever tongue and quick thinking had saved the region uncountable gold over the years. A trait that had evidently been passed on to his only daughter. Words flowed from her lips with ease and grace. Her eyes could read the lies others were telling, all without breaking face, controlled and calm she stayed, never giving away a thing.
Willow learnt to curtsey on arrival, sway and glide as she walked, cover her mouth when she laughed. She read books about kings, studied lore about empires, wrote songs about history. As she matured, she learnt to soften her gaze and flutter her eyes when a potential suitor was looking. She learnt to act like a proper lady, always leaving her admirers wanting more, but never leaving so much to the imagination that she wandered from their mind.
It was rumoured that Willow’s fair completion, slender graceful figure and pale red eyes were the result of distant generations of Elven blood mixed in the Monteguard line. Though such rumours were harshly dealt with and were never spoken in polite society. Still, her beauty was renowned among the people of Matharyn, common and noble folk alike. Her long luscious black locks flowing down her back were the envy of every woman, and her crimson kissed full lips were the desire of every man.
The townspeople spoke of her gracefulness, her kind aura and her angelic nature. The offers of suitors were in over-abundance. Every noble ranking family in the Matharyn region would have been grateful to accept Willow into their family. At the ripe age of sixteen, it was the offer of the great House Talrish that was finally accepted by Willow’s father. The eldest son, Audric Edmond Talrish, was a fine suitor indeed. He served the Knights of the Alerion, the elite warriors of Talingarde, devout followers of the Shining Lord Mitra. A fine match they made, a stern faced noble knight and his sweet talking ever-graceful bride.
Or so she would have you believe.
As a child Willow studied history and religion. She was particularly taken with a certain Prince of History. A man of pride, contractual obligations and tyranny. Asmodeus – The Prince of Darkness. It was him that the Monteguard’s honoured and followed. They strived for his order, his freedom from chaos. But of course it was only behind closed doors. For the worship of such a god was heresy – and the Monteguard’s were no use to Asmodeus dead.
Willow was taught power in hierarchy and order. She studied the way of Asmodeus rule. Every creature knowing its place, the weak always being ruled by the strong, the smart always outwitting the daft. What others called “evil” was what she saw the natural order of the universe; water flows downhill, fire burns and the strong dominate the weak.
The Monteguard's had worshipped their Infernal Lord since before the Taldorian vassal state of Talingarde was born. Their ancestors came across playing their part in the gruelling war of conquest. In the time of Markadian I, all religions were worshipped and the Monteguard bloodline ran strong in their home country of Cheliax, where the Prince of Darkness ruled unrivalled.
When Markadian IV came into power, The Zealot launched a war against the Asmodean faith. By fire and inquest he sought to destroy every trace of Asmodeus from the land. Cassidus Edward Monteguard, Willow's Great Grandfather, had long held the title of Lieutenant General. He had played an instrumental part in the great conquest, earning him and his family special recompense. Cassidus and his family publicly renounced Asmodeus. They repented, begging forgiveness, embracing Mitra as their lord. Of course, they did not actually abandon the Prince of Darkness. They worshipped him behind closed doors, plotting and planning for his return.
Every bit a child, Willow fostered a special connection with Asmodeus. Her parents would find her talking to him late at night as if he were in the room with her. She would tell them of him, his constant watchful eye, helping hand or warm embrace. At his command, she spent her younger years delighting in tricking people, convincingly lying and learning to manipulate them to her will.
As an adult, she fulfilled her duties as a wife and put on the face to make her husband believe he was all she needed. But he would never be enough. No man could ever be enough. No man could rule her while she was their better, she knew her place, and it was certainly above them. She could never love someone she could manipulate to her every whim. If they were not smart enough to see through the manipulation, then they deserved to be used like tools to suit her needs.

It was her strong connection to the Prince of Darkness that had her question her mother and father's devotion. As an early teen she would accuse them of their lack of faith, their laziness having taken over leaving them idle fat and happy. She regarded them as undeserving of their power and status. As she grew, she learnt that some thoughts were better kept to herself. For she knew Asmodeus to be the Lord of Ambition, and she was most certainly ambitious. She was strong where her parents were weak, and their Lord had his own way of working these things out.

“A way with words,” people would say of her gift – her ability to talk anyone into or out of anything. As young as fourteen, she had already begun work for her father as a lower transcriber in the Mayor’s office. It took only a few short years to talk her way up the ranks into the role of first administrator to the Mayor of Matharyn. It was from here that Willow could weave her web of deception in the name of Asmodeus.
As first administer she had access to most records and was responsible for sorting the priority list for the Mayor’s charges each day. The Mayor was an easy man to manipulate. All that Willow had to do was bat her pretty eyes while handing the him the contracts he was signing and his hand followed her lead while trying to slide around her waistline. While she was in the room he had no time to pay attention to anything else. Fraud and extortion were simple play things to Willow; she would smile gracefully as people unknowingly signed away their money. Most of them would never realise how mislead they had been.
But she had her sights set on something much bigger. The crown.
King Markadian V of the House Darius was known for his charity. It was his “help the less fortunate” attitude that sparked the fire in Willow. It was his “help the less fortunate that refuse to do anything to help themselves”. The natural order of the world was that the strong rule the weak. They were weak for a reason. Willow craved real leadership. She craved the rule of a man who saw the world and its people for what they were – most of them inferior helpless sheep. She craved Asmodeus.
It was this flame that put her into action. She knew that getting to the King himself would be perhaps beyond her reach for the moment, but a target she could surely reach was his beloved daughter Belinda. A benevolent kind girl, the apple of her father’s eye. No better way of disrupting the royal line than wiping out the only heir to the throne. She would work her way up to the king next. One by one she would wipe out every existing Markadian. Her own family were only a few steps from royalty. Nothing like a string of untraceable deaths to boost them up.

A decent assassin was always someone Willow had respect for, a man who could separate himself from his emotion and get his job done.
Willow had need of such a man, and she had just the one in mind. A man who had never failed a task set before him, with a poker face to rival Willow’s own. He asked no questions. He asked the target and location, he accepted your money, and the job was done on time as agreed. He called himself Switch, and after five years of working together, he’d never divulged his real name. But he’d earned himself a special place in Willow’s mind. A man in constant observation, a man who chose each word wisely, a man who never revealed his cards. It was not very often Willow lost control of her emotions, but a man so hard to break, no batting eyes would sway - he was a man worth her time.

It was only one night.
Willow usually sent payment along with a hireling, dirty work and road running were certainly not to her status. Only that night she decided to go herself, her curiosity was piqued, she had to know if the man of mystery and stone cold looks had a weak point.
They met in an abandoned temple on the outskirts of town, a forgotten relic of the past and a place she had always felt safe. She wore a cape of black to cover herself and her ruby encrusted daggers that were strapped to her hips. She stalked into the temple after she was certain she was not followed. Dropping her hood, she heard the faintest of breaths behind her and swiftly unsheathed her daggers as she span around. In a single moment, she came face to face with the ruggedly handsome masked assassin, his dagger resting at Willow’s throat. She smirked as he ran his eyes over her, not making any effort to disguise that he liked what he saw. As he met her eyes, he lowered his blade, gently tracing it down her chest before sheathing it. Willow fingered her dagger for a few moments more before unfastening her cloak and taking up a perch on the nearby wall.
As they stared in silence for a while, Willow considered the man. Tall, strong and built, but still lean and nimble. She noticed the scuffed boots with worn away soles, the tight fitting pants and shirt, even the soft material it was all made from. They would never hear him coming.
He chuckled as she tried to study his face, the mask he wore covered any recognisable features, but his familiar laugh sent shivers down her spine.Attempting to hide her reaction, she began talking and turned on her usual charm. She found it oddly curious how easily the conversation flowed with him. They spoke of everything from fine arts to tight corsets. He held a twisted sense of humour that Willow certainly enjoyed.
After an hour talking with the curiously evasive man, she said her farewell, tossing him the pouch of gold as she turned to leave. Before she had taken a step, he had her by the waist and pinned her against the wall. He crushed his lips to hers and pushed his thigh between her legs. Willow was outraged at his audacity, but she couldn't stop herself from grinding down on his leg. She knew she should push him away, only she felt undeniably compelled to draw him closer. Every time they had met, she had managed to stop herself. Tonight was different. He seized her hands and forced them above her head. It was like fanning the fire in her, she had to gain control of him, she drew his lip into her mouth and bit down firmly. In a trice he had her flipped around, face pressing into the sharp stonework of the wall. With a hand in her hair, he drew her head back, looking deep into her eyes. He stared into her soul as he took complete control of her, and all she could do was listen to her body and obey.

It was a night of weakness, she had let herself become vulnerable, she had been made to feel a passion she had never felt for anyone but Asmodeus. It was a frightening thought.
They never spoke of that night. After all, Willow was a married woman. The wife, the trophy, the pedestalled doll of a great noble Knight of Mitra. She could not be seen or connected with the scum of the streets; a man who killed for money.
Switch accepted the contract on the Princess’ life. No queries, no objections, just a price and a wink as he left her dishevelled and exhausted on the temple’s stone floor.
Willow had to admire the way he worked once under contract. He was smart, no bravado - quick and efficient, always believing in ending someone else’s life only through necessity, and through the fastest and most effective means. Willow had seen too many cases put through the Mayor’s desk, incompetent amateurs wasting time with painful prolonged revengeful deaths. Leaving enough time for the victim to escape, be found or saved, leaving only the moron who allowed his feelings to disrupt his task.
Switch kept his mind on the job and got it done.
Over the years he had done a few jobs for Willow. No one as high ranking as the Princess of course, but a merchant chewing into her profits, or a politician looking to jeopardise her convenient position. He was always efficient and successful. She had no doubt he would be again, for the exorbitant measure of gold she was paying, there was indeed no doubt.

As the daughter of a Duke, Willow was always invited to soirées the Princess hosted, and like every other year she would be bidden to the Royal Gala on the Vernal Equinox. If planned meticulously, she believed it would be the perfect chance to lace the Princess’ wine glass with a little Amber Lotus Powder. A swift death, leaving no trace of lingering poison.
She was incredibly gifted at bribes and blackmail and took particular pride in the way she could bend people into doing what she needed. A few well-placed coins to the palace kitchen staff. One would leave the potato sack in the way of the storeroom door while the stew was on. Another would leave the window ajar so the Princess’ favourite pie could cool on the sill. One would spill a bucket of water across the brick walk to the kitchen stores just as the rear western guards were changing watch.

It was the night before the soirée when the guards kicked Willow’s door in. They came bursting through, led by her husband and another of the knights. Before she could speak, she was thrown to the floor, restrained and gagged.
“High Treason!” they kept barking.
Willow kept her calm as she was dragged out in chains, staring into the eyes of hatred, her husband with his stone cold face tinted with betrayal.
When they brought her before the magistrate she stood silently listening to the testimony of the manor staff, what they had been paid for small mundane tasks all amounting to a clear path for the would-be assassin. The same assassin who had turned her in, who had anonymously been blackmailing her husband with the evidence of Willow’s guilt. The same husband who could no longer protect a woman, an apparent faithful, loving wife, who would sleep with another man.
It was a fairly short hearing; there was no doubt that Willow was guilty. She did not protest, she did not try to claim her innocence. In fact, she said nothing. There was nothing she could say. She had lost all she had worked for, and she knew why. This was the natural order of the universe. The strong rule the weak and those too weak will be taken advantage of by those strong enough to do it. She had been weak, but she had learnt a harsh valuable lesson. She would not be weak again. She would not be inferior.
She was hauled into Branderscar Prison and thrown onto the cold stone floor. They pinned her down and pushed a searing hot brand into her arm. She felt the skin split, melt and burn away, but she did not move. She would not grant them the satisfaction. Picked up by a firm rough grip around the newly scorched open flesh, two guards dragged her to her cell.

Willow gazed into her blackened oozing arm. As the wound festered, she knew it would serve as a lifetime reminder. She would grow from this, Asmodeus demanded it.
She closed her eyes and spoke to him; she would not beg forgiveness, for all he demanded was obedience, all he demanded was that she keep her place. And her place was with him, fighting for him. She was strong, she was meant to restore order to this world. She would not be the victim again.

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Chapter 1 – Escape from Branderscar

The throbbing of the bruises on Willow's side were what woke her, as she found herself dangling by the wrists chained to a wall. The smell of burnt flesh hung thick in air, the wound on her wrist still tender, the crisp edges of the “F” met with swollen red skin. Forsaken they said. Marked for eternity as scum, vermin, traitor. An abandoned soul.
Chains clanked as the Forsaken soul to her right tried to brute force her way out of her restraints. An abnormally strong looking female, with a face Willow could almost recognise, was pulling hard on her bonds trying to snap the chain away from the wall. Scoffing internally, Willow knew the Branderscar Prison chains would not be so simple to escape.
Straining her eyes she looked around the cell to find four other Forsaken. The man to her left was tall and toned, he had red fiery eyes with one of those charming faces Willow would have enjoyed taunting back at court. On his left was a woman whose face had that slightly angular exotic shape, clearly not from the lands of Talingarde. At the end of the row was an older gentleman, his ashing hair and almost wrinkle-less face spoke of a privileged life.
A loud clank to her right brought Willow's eyes around to see a reinforced cell, with a bulking beast of an ogre sleepily swaying side to side. Covered in wounds that had clearly not been tended to, the beast simply sat idly looking drugged out of his mind.
The cell stank of blood and faeces, the filthy rags she was barely dressed in stuck to the wall, in places where it had obviously not been cleaned in a while. Or ever.
The sound the butch female was making with her chains brought the attention of the guard to the door, as he yelled a warning, Willow remained motionless. Once the door slammed shut, she inspected the restraints. Simple enough locks if she had her tools, but tight enough that even Willow's slender wrists could not slip through. Willow contemplated breaking her own wrist to get at least one hand free, but with three days until the execution, she decided to leave that as her last resort.

An hour after she had woken from her restless slumber, the door flung open as the guards entered, led by their Captain. The same Captain who had laughed as he seared the brand into Willow's arm, who had explained to her in detail how it was going to feel being drawn and quartered. She had never known the feeling before, but she was looking forward to watching the life drain from his eyes.
It was too dark to see much, but Willow heard the Forsaken to her left being taken away for a “special female visitor”. An odd thing, to say the least. She had never heard of anyone in Branderscar being allowed visitors. Nor had she heard of anyone who would want to visit a soul condemned as Forsaken.
A short while later, the charming face was dragged back into the cell and re-chained to the wall. A few filthy comments from the Captain, and the cell was locked shut. Two guards had been stationed outside the cell, after a while they filled the dreary silence with drone conversation about card games and cheaters.
Chains quietly clinking to her left had her looking over at the charming one, as a white veil draped from his hand.
“It's a magic veil!” whispered the exotic one, "It has items sewn into it, try peeling it off!"
Upon seeing the star of Asmodeus, Willow's heart warmed. She knew she was not done in this life. She knew she had a much bigger role to play and that she would do great things for him. She knew she was not forsaken, Asmodeus was there for her as she was for him.
Seeing the lockpick embroidered into the veil cemented her will. The charming one offered them to her and with a wicked smile Willow set to her own hand restraints. A swift and quiet click of the lock and she could rub her sore but free wrists. She decided the best course of action was to free the other Forsaken, if not for help to escape, at least a mighty good distraction while she slinked off into the shadows. The charming ones bonds were as quick and easy as her own, but as she reached for the butch one's, her sweaty nervous fingers slipped and the long end of the lockpick chinked to the floor.
Willow whipped her hands above her head as quick as she could. Luckily, the guards assumed it was a rat, clearly not expecting any possible way of escape. After a few minutes, and with her feet still restrained, Willow returned to her task of unlocking the chains. The gentleman was too far away, she couldn't reach his chains, he would have to wait until she was completely free herself.
Willow watched the Asmodean star peel from the Veil and come to life. As it was passed to the butch one, she considered the possibility of not doing this alone.
Quiet as she could, Willow crept over to the side wall of the cell where the chains were attached to the wall. Deft hands made short work of the lock, as she quietly dragged the chains through the manacle attached to her ankle. Keeping a sharp ear for any pauses in the guard's conversation, Willow unlocked the gentleman's restraints.
With the five of them free, she heard the exotic one whisper an incantation as the faint sound of battle came from beyond the prison cell. The guards seemed to weigh up the repercussions of not aiding their comrades against leaving the prisoners alone. After a curse, they followed the sounds, rushing out of the room. Willow sprang to the door, quick and swift it was unlocked and open.
“What about the Ogre?” said the butch female.
Willow scoffed, “What about it?”
“We can't just leave him here. He could help us escape. Or at least be a decent distraction.”
Again, Willow smiled. Another distraction was always welcome. She ushered the manly woman into the Ogre's cell, and carefully set about unlocking the massive manacles on his ankles. The Ogre stirred, looking apprehensive and nervous, watching Willow work. The metal fell to the floor with a clank and she got out of the cage quick smart, positioning herself behind the corner cell. Without her blades there was little she could do in a fight, she would have to bide her time and wait for an opportunity.
Other items were stripped from the Veil, including two daggers, which Willow eyed hungrily. The men were given one each and prepared for an ambush. When the guards entered they were discussing the odd sounds they heard, and as they neared the corner, the Forsaken men attacked. Swift and precise, one guard had his eye impaled straight into his brain. The other receive a fair cut to the throat as he stumbled back, fell into the door and slid to the floor. Willow pounced forward as the charming one tossed her a dagger, she caught it mid air and as the guard mumbled a warning, she cut him off mid-sentence by embedding the dagger through his throat. An odd feeling it was. She didn't have much time to ponder but she was surprised how remarkably easy it was to end a mans life.
A man outside the door called out to his fellow guards as Willow stripped the bloody uniform from the dead man.
"All ok," barked the gentleman, "Just bloody rats!"
Willow picked up the guards longsword and tossed it to the charming one with a wink and a cheeky smile. He tried to catch it but fumbled and she had to muffle a laugh as the sword clanked to the floor. With little to no modesty left after spending nights dressed in foul rags covered in her own waste, Willow stripped naked and put on the guard uniform, trying to wipe off as much of the filth as possible.
After the bodies were stripped of their belongings the group set up another ambush. The ogre, who called himself Grumblejack, stood in front of the door while the gentleman called out to the guard in the next room. When the door opened, the guard was greeted by Grumblejack's fist. He was flung backward, tumbling into the seat behind him. Realising he was clearly out numbered and over powered, he sat quietly watching. While the others bickered about what to do with him, whether to kill him outright or whether to lock him away, Willow made the easy choice and approached him from behind and drove her dagger into the side of his neck.
“He can't stop us if he's dead.”
While some of the group looked shocked at her actions, the charming one gave her a disarming smile, with a wink back she began stripping the guard.
The group of Forsaken began discussing the plan to escape, when the gentleman suggested someone with quiet feet should scout ahead. Willow raised her eyebrows in disbelief and disgust. If the old man thought she would be at his beck and call, he had another thing coming. The old man raised his eyebrows back and pointed his sword at her face while repeating his suggestion. Willow fingered her dagger while staring him down. Willow pictured things turning out a lot worse if the charming one had not intervened.
He pushed in between the two and batted away the old man's sword.
“Forget this,” he said impatiently, “I'll go first.”
Willow eyed the old man for a moment longer before brushing past to follow the charming one. As she got to the bottom of the staircase she found him with his ear pressed to the door.
“My lady,” he whispered, “May I ask you to listen, perhaps you can hear what I cannot?”
Surprised and flattered, Willow obliged, pressing her own ear to the door. The sound of a crackling torch was all she could hear, as she was about to pull away she heard a distinct cough from the other side. She signalled the group and they prepared for another trap. The old man, who clearly enjoyed his theatrics, played the part of a drunken musical guard. As the door opened, Willow plunged her dagger into the throat of the wide eyed guard while the charming one skewered him on his longsword. As over kill goes, ogres do it best; Grumblejack stepped forward and crushed the impaled man into the ground.
Further down the hallway, a guard stood frozen in shock. A sickening terror flooded his face, the fear seeming to stunt his reaction. The team surged forward and reached him before he could flee.
“Do not move, do not speak,” the charming one said menacingly.
He quickly nodded and mumbled incoherently.
As he sank to his knees, he spluttered, “Nobody can escape Branderscar prison, you'll never succeed.”
The butch one smiled, a dark and ominous sight, “Asmodeus will show us the way.”
The guard's skin drained of all colour, with wide eyes he breathed, “Mitra preserve me.”
Willow lent down close to the guards ear and with a devilish grin she whispered, “Mitra can not save you now...”
As the guard let out a shriek and began to wail, she quickly slashed her dagger across his throat cutting off the sound while blood spurted from his neck.
As the group split up to search for supplies and any information to help them with the escape, Willow raided the armoury and the office rooms. She found a number of interesting items, including evidence that Sargent Blackley had been stealing supplies, and one of the “F” brands that had been used to mark Willow as Forsaken. She smiled holding the brand, she told herself she wouldn’t use it for vengeance, she would use it to send a message.
As Willow was searching through the desk drawers she heard the old man fumble around with the door handle to the Captain's room and clumsily knock the door open. As a signal horn sounded from the room, Willow clutched her dagger and sprang into action. She pounced into the room and slinked in behind the Captain as the butch one smashed a bottle of oil over his shoulder. Instinctively, Willow grabbed a torch from the wall and bludgeoned him, setting the oil alight. The fire spread across his body quickly, the Captain screeched and wailed crashing into the wall, falling to the floor in a heap. He struggled to roll trying to put the fire out. When he stopped moving Willow pulled out the brand she had found. She held it over his flaming corpse until it glowed bright orange and pressed the “F” into the centre of his forehead.
"It would seem dear Captain," Willow whispered, "That Mitra has Forsaken you.”

Coming from the hall Willow could hear the sound of swords clashing. She ran out of the room with her blade in hand, hitched up her uniform pants as she dove passed the guards with a forward flip and sideways roll, she sprang up and lodged her dagger into the top of his spine. As the guard fell forward, she saw the others impaled or crushed. Willow was relieved that each of the Forsaken seemed to have some fighting prowess. The charming one handled the sword with military efficiency, controlled strikes and defensive blocks. The butch one struck out with fierce stretch in each untamed blow. Even the old man pierced quick and true, a duelist style to his swing. The exotic one held no blade, but appeared to have a small set of arcane spells she could perform, some of which had already proven their worth.
While raiding the kitchen and finding some much need clean fresh food, the butch one ran out the front door, yelling about a fantastic plan to lure the Warden and the guards. With no more explanation she was gone. Seconds later, multiple signal horns sounded.
After scoffing and shaking her head, Willow gathered the group and crept out the kitchen door. Sneaking around the back of the cell block, heading towards the Warden's tower, the sound of guards yelling and dogs barking had Willow cursing. The thought of leaving the butch woman and sacrificing her so the rest of the group could get away, was certainly a tasty one. But Willow couldn’t ignore the fact that her possible allies in the world could be counted on one hand. With a sigh, she and the group charged around towards the fighting. Rounding the corner, they saw the butch woman limping towards them, guards and dogs at her heels. She saw the Warden, an elderly harsh looking man, commanding a sphere of flame and shooting wisping missiles of magic.
One by one the guards were cut down. Their blades and arrows had split open wounds and punctures in each of the Forsaken, but after decades of slackening and complacency, the guards were poorly trained and unequipped to deal with the ferocity of vengeance the Forsaken wielded.
Willow knew well that this standard of defence was not always so. When Branderscar was founded, it housed the most heinous of all criminals. The small bands of Asmodean cults were purged from the land like a stain on Mitra's glistening robe. They were hunted and captured, slaughtered and burnt at the stake. The prison once housed the ones they had managed to capture alive, holding them until the judgment of the pyre was ready to claim their souls. The walls of Branderscar were fabled to be filled with the strongest and mightiest warriors, protecting the fair people of the land from the vile villainy of Asmodeus. In recent times, the prison had fallen into disrepair. The guards grew lazy, their defence grew sloppy, their training severely lacking. No one ever escaped from Branderscar, no one ever would. It was a fact that was accepted and never questioned. Willow couldn't help but smile as each guard fell. The Talrien’s complacency was about to be their undoing.
She had her sights on the Warden. She took off at a run and with a forceful leap came down over him and hacked clumsily across the back off his neck. Blood showered across the yard as he collapsed to the ground. Willow stood over him and held him down with her foot. The Warden lay helpless on the ground clutching his neck, and as the blood pooled from his body and his struggling became weaker, Willow smiled. He was just another sheep, another blind follower. This is how she would do it. She no longer needed words, all she needed was a blade. Looking down on the Warden as the life drained slowly from his face, Willow leant close and positioned the blade to his skin. With one powerful jab, she rammed the dagger through his throat.

Leaving the courtyard through a hail of arrows, Willow picked up a bow from a dead guards body and started firing back. All those hunting trips with the Royal Court were coming in handy. Although, Willow couldn't see much difference in the mindless creatures she would shoot then and the ones she was shooting now. As her arrows landed true, she saw the butch one struggling to even draw an arrow to her bow. As she fumbled and continuously dropped first her arrow, then the quiver, flinging her bow string pointlessly, Willow couldn't stop the laugh that escaped. Another few failed attempts had the butch one and Willow keeled over in laughter.
It had been a very long time since Willow had laughed like that. Neither her usual days at work in the Mayor’s office, nor her social gatherings with the Noble houses, ever yielded any actual fun. Her husband had never been a particularly funny man. Nor a fun or interesting one. Apart from his status, there wasn't anything Willow liked about him. If there was one good thing about having been caught, it was the memory of the look of horror on his face when he realised Willow was not the weak, pushover, trophy wife he believed she was.
She smiled as she realised she’d never have to “make love” to him again. She often wondered how he had no clue that she was within her own world, wishful dreams of making love to her Infernal Lord. She would picture serving him, he would demand and she would obey. The only way she would reach climax with her husband was to believe herself commanded to by Asmodeus. Every time in the haze afterwards Willow always had trouble telling what had been real and what had been dreamed. She always felt the touch of Asmodeus, along with the cold dead weight of her husband.
Willow snapped out of it and shook her head as she wrapped the few coins, food and supplies she had gathered in her length of silk and wound it to her side. With no idea what would come next, she faced the massive double doors keeping her from the outside world. The group baited the last of the guards into a trap, where they blew up the guards and the front doors to the prison.

Stepping over the threshold, Willow saw the raging sea crashing into the road of rocks. Slowly walking along the rocky cliffs towards the gate had Willow grinning. One wrong step would mean a very painful fall to her death, but Willow had always been nimble on her feet. Each step was like a weight being lifted, her second chance was becoming a reality. The sea breeze whipping her hair around, the salt smell clearing her nose and watering her eyes, it truly was a beautiful day. And freedom tasted damn good. As the group made it to the gate there were smiles all around. The old man turned to Willow with a wicked grin of his own.
He winked and said, “But, nobody escapes Branderscar Prison...”

Upon reaching the outside, the charming one explained briefly about their anonymous helper and their expected attendance at the manor on Moors Road. With little to no other options, Willow was keen to meet this mysterious benefactor.
After travelling the moors for hours, the mansion came into view. There it was, foreboding and unwelcoming. A tall dark manor, with a single lit candle in the second story window. There was nothing warm about the place, it felt like no refuge. But it was as close to a sanctuary as Willow was going to get.
She had escaped. She was free. Her love for Asmodeus surged through her. He was giving her a chance to prove herself. He knew she was worth it. He knew she was strong.
Her lips crept up in a wicked grin, for she was only just getting started...