Guilty. You are a lawbreaker – the worst of the worst. Too dangerous to live amongst the good people of Talin-garde, they dragged you in chains before a magistrate and condemned you. They sent you to the worst prison in the land and there they forever marked you. They held you down and branded you with a runic F. You are forsaken.
You won’t be at Branderscar Prison for long. Branderscar is only a holding pen. In three days – justice comes. In three days – everything ends. What a pity. If only there was a way out of this stinking rat-hole. If only there was a way to escape. If only…
No. No one has ever escaped from Branderscar Prison. This is where your story ends.
Dot.
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 togeth-
er 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?
You all begin to awaken slowly, each rousing over the next few minutes upon their own steam. Your shackles had been meticulously placed and secured beyond your ability to escape. You are strung up by your chains and left hanging till you can wake up and support your own weight properly.
As your eyes adjust to the flickering flames dancing from their sconces outside of your rather large cage. (Surprisingly even with six of you in here and a skeleton of what looks like a small horned humanoid, you still have room between you to keep you from harming one another.) Slowly but surely, you can hear the snores of the guard down the hall watching over you, though you can faintly hear the chatter of two or more individuals out of sight playing cards or something close to that as far as you can tell from the muffled yells and laughter from time to time.
|
Drack groans as he gradually wakes up, his frame large and lightly discolored from the bearings, though with his reptilian Hide it it difficult to tell how much of that is just his natural coloration. Most notable to him when he first wakes up is his head, aching from the rough treatment of the soldiers who apprehended him. Drack goes to clutch at his head in an attempt to alleviate his headache when the chains rattle and grow taught, the sound and sensation of the chains snapping him the rest of the way up in an instant ”f*@* me then...” he mutters, looking around at the gathered criminals and the surroundings
No thanks the dark haired well built woman mutters next to Drack. Covered in bruises and with a split lip still leaking blood. Her eyes are blind folded making her look normal for once, save her excessive height
Ella has been listening to the guard snore for a little while, trying to keep from wincing every time her body shifts.
Amazingly, it wasn't the worst wake-up Vriskella had ever had, as she looks around and groans, her body sore and bruised, her legs still aching in pain from the arrow wound even after it had been removed and cleaned up. "Such pitiful conditions. I know this is prison, but the least such grand and righteous folk could do is provide us with beds." Vriskella shifts about to find as slack a position as she can take without suspending from the chain. Slowly, she takes stock of her fellow cell dwellers, mind already beginning to grasp at thoughts of possible escape. Asmodeus would not let her burn at the stake, that much she was sure of; she just had to figure out through what means he offered her a chance to flee. To do that, she needed to establish herself strong. A joke, perhaps. People hanging from shackles always did love jokes. "Interesting group we have here. Are we sure we're guilty of any crimes, and the guard isn't simply cleaning up the street of our unseemly sort?"
Ileosa, slowly groaning as she sat up and looked around at the sort of people who had been thrown in a cell with her. Unlike many she looked, human, beautiful yes but in the company of all those around her average. "You would think with such a, heinous crime like mine they would have placed me in my own cell." Ileosa said as she stood up and dusted herself off.
"And just what company did they put me in hmm?" She questioned them with a raised eyebrow.
The young woman near one end of the cell stirs in her sleep with a quiet moan. Her head hangs down as far as her bindings permit, her long brown hair obscuring her features. As the lingering remnants of her disjointed dreams slowly give way to wakefulness, a single word falls from bruised lips, the whisper sounding like a prayer. "Kael..."
Fully roused by the sounds of nearby voices and laughter, the young woman slowly shifts, trying to alleviate the searing pain in her arms by getting her feet back under her. The curtain of dark, lank hair hiding her face parts, revealing delicate features marred by bruising on her right cheek and unfocused blue eyes. She blinks until the indistinct shapes resolve themselves into the forms of her fellow cellmates. Despite their fairly monstrous appearances, she keeps her face carefully blank—aside from the slightly pinched look that pain lends to her features.
She quietly scoffs as the swarthy, infernal-blooded beauty makes her jest but otherwise gives no response to it, disinclined as she is to admit to any wrongdoing. She briefly, critically eyes the other, more conventional-looking woman who speaks next, seeking the identities of those she shares a cell with; for a few moments, it seems that the seemingly haughty young woman will continue to remain tight-lipped. No need to start making enemies now. You have plenty of those waiting for you on the other side of the cell.
"Lady Senara Davorim, of Eaglesport," she eventually introduces herself in a soft, though raspy voice. Sitting up a little straighter, Senara carefully clears her aching throat and continues, in a clearer voice this time. "Although given the circumstances, I think we can forgo the usual formalities; Senna will do just fine," she offers, giving the group a gentle, almost bashful smile.
Ella cocked her head toward each of the talkers, listening since the blindfold prevented actual looking. Three women so far, and something that didn't sound entirely human. She groaned softly at the titles from the last one. She must have done something really bad to be turned on by her own.
"Ella... Ella Magrid. Bastard child of a hanged man." she says simply when there is a pause in the conversation. No malice or anger just blunt sarcasm "Are we all strung up like meat for the butcher, or is it just me?" she pulls slow but heavily on the chains, her arms bulging, but accomplishing nothing. The guards seem not to trust me anymore. For some reason." she smiled at that, remembering the last one's scream as her teeth sank into his forearm.
"Vriskella," the Tiefling replies curtly, increasingly frustrated by her failures to steady her footing in a way that would feel comfortable and relaxed. It leads to her kicking and dragging her feet across the floor in frustration, tugging at her chains not out of a struggle to pull out of them, but because of the constant, restless moving and tugging, which only digs the cold metal into her wrists tighter the more she tries to make it work. It's only been seconds in the waking world, and already the conditions have tested her patience. She had not killed and charmed her way into a life of luxury just to end up in such squalor.
Eventually, stomping her foot, she just decides to stand upright, miserable and doing so, but it's simply not working for her. "We are all in this sorry state. The guards are convinced these are our final hours and seem committed to making them as miserable as they can, but they're fools, and it will only earn them slower, more painful deaths when we find a way out of here." She speaks with confidence and surety, partly from her devout belief that Asmodeus will somehow intervene, and partly to speak authoritatively among these strangers.
Carys stares out at the others, her large, black compound eyes taking in the scene before her. Tho the first to wake, she is also the last to say anything or make any moves. She breathes deep, blinking and evaluating her surroundings.
An experienced and cautious woman, she didn't get to her age by rushing in and blindly storming the barricades. No, she formed her opinions before acting or speaking.
As she turns her head, the single wicked horn on the left side of her head clatters against the bars, sending unpleasant echoes and vibrations through her skull. She winces as Vriskella finishes her last comment, more out of pain than anything else.
"Such bold talk for six losers in a cage. We were caught. You don't get uncaught. If, as you suggest, these are not our final hours, it will take the flames of Hell itself to light our way."
Ella sighs. With a low amused voice she adds "Bold talk countered by bold talk... now we are getting somewhere..." She stops pulling at her chains, wishing she could actually see these people "Look. I have no desire to be beheaded, so whether it is 'Flames of hell' or 'Slow Guard Torture' that will stop that, I'm at your service."
"Ah Yes, where are my manors. I am Lady Ileosa Albus." Ileosa said with a respectful not to those within the cell. "You can of course just call me Ileosa. Fairly sure the Lady part was stripped from me after I was taken away anyways." She said.
Standing slowly to keep her head from swimming any more than it was she spoke, "You're only getting beheaded? Wish to trade? I'm to be drawn and quartered." She joked though her sentence was very real. "If we wish not to die than first we need a way of of these chains. But as they took everything we had... I don't think that will be happening." Ileosa pointed out. "You know, no one did answer me. What is everyone in for?"
Her eyes then drift toward the other strange looking woman in the room, taking in the sight of the clearly inhuman woman with interest. Another Tiefling? "The flames of hell are precisely what will see us out of here. My life has been guided all these years by the iron-gloved fist of Asmodeus, and I will not burn at the pyre. I intend to leave Branderscar by whatever means I see possible, and whether or not you wish to live as well is of no concern to me, but the more of us we have the better. Even if you believe it a fool's errand; are we not all condemned to death already? Why sit like cowards in a cell and invite it as though it's inevitable?"
Then, her gaze shifts toward Ileosa, her smile widening. "I called up a devil and attempted to have him put a half-fiend bastard into Sir Balin's wife. Damned witch hunter broke it up and I took an arrow to the calf attempted to escape. Of course, you won't hear the gaurds say as much here; the bastard is well connected, and everyone lied about what I did to save them the shame. Officially, I'm in here for witchcraft, but it may as well be public indecency for all that says about my crimes." The recollection draws some laughter from Vriskella at the thought of it, before she spits onto the floor, the taste of blood in her mouth finally getting to her. She'd taken a hit to the jaw earlier after getting a bit too harsh to one of the guards.
Ileosa hearing Vriskella's crime, laughed. A long and joyful laugh. "Oh, oh that is beautiful! You and I are going to get along well." She informed the bard. "I my dear, was born into the faith and taught to be one of his Inquisitors. I was schooled mainly in infiltration, and I infiltrated the court for two years before finding myself the King's own mistress for two more!" Ileosa explained with glee. "The plan was to turn him slowly to our side, or control the next generation of the royal family by producing a heir. Yet," She sighed annoyed. "I failed to remain hidden! I am not sure what gave me away, I was so careful... but they came and took me away. Of course I tried to faint innocent but it didn't work. The oddest thing is, they couldn't openly announce what I had done! So the framed me for high treason, now I'm here!"
Carys shrugs (as much as one can shrug while suspended on chains). "I am a real estate lawyer. An upset client accused me of devil worship, which led to an investigation. I am to die in the fire, which I personally am comfortable with. The thought of being smothered by ceaseless flames has sustained me all my life."
She cracks her neck, revealing purple bruising along her thick, chitinous blue skin.
"Not to say I am not interested in this escape and bloody vengeance everyone is going on about."
|
|
Drack looks at Carys like she’s crazy when she talks about “the ceaseless claims” but doesn’t comment, simply saying ”since we’re talking introductions and s*#!, the name is Drack Vakarin. Formerly Sergeant Drack Vakarin. I’m not part of some grand scheme to corrupt the holy bastards like a few of you apparently are, I just looked out for number one, but apparently sleeping at your post is a crime they punish just as severe as Devil worship....
Senara makes a sympathetic sounding noise as the last two prisoners tell the tales of what landed them in Branderscar Prison. The offenses as recounted were nothing, in her esteem, that warranted a prison sentence, much less an execution—though she would readily say the same of the charges brought against herself—but their presence in the cell is hardly surprising. What is surprising to Senara is how they managed survive this long in Talingarde looking as they do. "You both must be from very progressive communities. It's a shame more Talireans aren't more... shall we say, enlightened."
Senna breathes a quiet sigh once she feels the onus to share the details of her so-called crimes shift onto her. On the one hand, if this group of disparate criminals is planning to break out of prison, the more she bonded with them the better her chances of escaping would be. But on the other hand... it was terribly unladylike to boast. Eventually deciding that it's best to divulge the details of her recently sordid past now than to burn at the pyre in three days' time, Senara confesses, "My only crime was to flout the authority of the Mitran church by accomplishing what the priests and their Shining Lord could not. By bringing my brother back to life after he had been unjustly murdered." While it's obvious there is more to her story, the lady remains reluctant to tell all. For now.
"As inspiring as all this talk of vengeance and fiery retribution is, perhaps it would be more prudent to allow the guards to think we've resigned ourselves to our fates. A gaoler who thinks he's crushed the spirits of his prisoners won't be as vigilant as one who expects we'll fight to the last." With a slight, carefree shrug of her shoulders, Senara adds, "In my inexpert opinion, at least."
Ella listens again, focusing as best she can. Witches, raising of the dead, summoning demons, trying to bring down the crown... and a deserter... this Drack must be holding something back.
At a pause she'll interject.
"Sorry, Ileo- no...Senara?" matching names with voices is harder than faces Ella is finding "I have broken noses, shattered a knee, and tore into the flesh of as many of these self righteous hypocrites as I could. For the entire happy trip here. Even the thickest and trusting of the lugs won't believe I am resigning to anything..."
"Since we sharing stories and its relevant and all. I am in for nearly beating a nobleman to death with hammer and hands." all she wanted was for this damned country to leave her alone. "Attempted murder, a brutal one at that, doesn't put my crime above any of your more elaborate ones, but it does tend to make guard-types nervous. That combined with me continuing my Non-resigning ways... well you all with your crisp diction probably understand where I commoner like me is going on about, can't ya?"
She straightens up trying to stretch out her many aches while she waits to see...
"I like you already," she remarks to Ileosa, smiling wider and spitting out a bit more blood. The taste was having a hard time leaving her tongue. "I didn't know there was another sect around the city. Here I was, duping fools into doing my dirty work for all this time when there were competent agents about. What I wouldn't give for some people competent enough to cover up their tracks; it's the poor quality of underlings that brought me here." But it had been Vriskella's idea to perform the profane ritual in Balin's home where he could come upon the immediate sign something was wrong. She'd been the sloppy one. But moving on, her head turns excitedly toward Carys. "A lawyer, you say?" Her smile turns dark. "Well then by the gods, you may just be the only one here deserving of your sentence."
"But in all seriousness, it seems like none of us truly wish to die here, and so I cannot help but wonder if there is some hope we could pool what we have together and sort out a means of escape. Branderscar has surely never held such a peculiar lot of strange, talented weirdos as us before. I agree, the guards should underestimate us, but I doubt those bastards much care, too busy with their game and their confidence. They have already written us off as having any chance of escape. Nobody has escaped Branderscar before; let us use how little they think of us to our advantage. We need simply find the opportune time to strike. Night, perhaps. When the guard will be at their thinnest and the darkness on our sides."
Carys says nothing, simply watching. She has nothing to prove by posturing.
The grogginess abates as the pain from the chains biting into your skin(scales) and time passes. You each begin to recall the hours before awakening to your new home.
You were each branded by a rather rotund and enthusiastic jailor. He seemed to take delight in his work, listening to the hiss of flesh burning, scales cracking under the heath, and the screams of agony. You distinctly remember his name being called, Sergeant Tomas Blackerly. The twisted man took pleasure in taunting you with your upcoming death while you were held in place by chains and his guards.
Behind him, scrawling on a bit of parchment, sat an older man. His hair white with age, an eye missing and judging by the scar going through the center of where his eyepatch sat, he lost it during fight. He strokes his chin and barely says a word.
Matthias Richter, or Warden Ritcher as you hear him addressed when he speaks up during your branding, says "Careful with these ones Sergeant Blackerly. They possess the taint of Asmodeus no doubt. Check for any birthmarks, trinkets, symbols of faith and brand over them. Burn their valuables, we'll have no demon's blood taint this prison."
Matthias Richter, or Warden Ritcher as you hear him addressed when he actually stops the Sergeant from branding you, steps forwards and stares at you, even grabbing hold of you chin while you're bound and held in place carefully.
He stares for what seems like minutes, before he starts looking over your body with that one eye. Seemingly peering into the depths of the arcane that binds your brother's soul to your own, he finds the pact mark that you and your eidilion share to cement your bond as master and servant. He grins with a perverse sense of pleasure "I had heard of your doings, you twisted woman. Going so far as to bind your brother's soul to yourself even if it meant bringing a demon along for the ride...." he mused as he stared at the mark that none had found before.
He grabbed the brand from Sergeant Blackerly's hands, something that made even the Sergeant look surprised and he slammed it down with force and effort of a man thirty years his youth. He looked into your eyes once he had hit his mark "Your brother, rest his soul in damnation after what you've done to him, will not be making an appearance to save you from your date with the cross." he says alluding to your upcoming punishment.
The night comes and goes, time only evident by the passing of the guards and the smells of the meals wafting off their breath as they check in on you ever few hours.
Sometime later, you assume close to the afternoon of your first "day" in captivity, you are greeted by Sergeant Blackerly with his entourage of six guards. Carefully protected between them is a hauntingly beautiful woman in an elegant black dress and wearing a soft silken veil. She looks as though she is dressed for a funeral. Her hair is so platinum as to almost be white and her eyes are a vibrant almost unearthly green. She has clearly been in mourning.
Sergeant Tomas speaks up "YOU, THERE!That’s the scum! Get ‘em unshackled. If any of you makes trouble, they’ll earn a thrash-
ing! 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." he says with his finger pointing at Carys.
Perhaps out of kindness, the woman in the center steps forwards grabbing at the bars before looking back to the Sergeant and grabbing his arm "Good Sergeant, I know that these prisoners have committed crimes, crimes in which they will be punished, but surely they deserve some mercy. Mithra's teachings proclaim even the damned should be shown some kindness. Please, let them at least have the comfort of the ground and a meal in their stomachs..." she says pleading with the man.
Whether vanity, hubris, or just his attempts to keep up appearances overtakes the Sergeant but he nods to the woman and the chains are relaxed so that you can sit "comfortably" upon the ground. He assures her that you'll receive a meal soon enough and two men grab Carys by either arm and hoist her up before the entire company begins making their way back and out of sight.
Watching carefully despite being shuffled about and being the center of attention at the moment, notice that Sergeant Blackerly is under the affects of a Charm Monster.
Carys is taken down the hall, past several emptied cells, including one you knew held others the day before. You notice on the way back that there is one cell, a reinforced one that has a beaten and blooded Orge in.
You turn a corner and pass through the guard's room and into the interrogation room. You can tell as you're seated by the bloodstains in the corner and the lingering odor of burnt flesh that many an atrocity has occurred in this room.
The guards leave and close the door behind them as she speaks. “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?” Tomas goes blank for a bit and then quickly agrees. “Of course, my lady. For you,’ tis no problem.”
He soon leaves as well, leaving just the two of you alone in the room. Her demeanor quickly changes now that there are no witnesses. All pretense of grief or concern has dropped and she is all business in her mannerisms and voice.
"Have you forgotten me, dearest?” the unexpected visitor says with a smirk, dropping her pretense of grief. “[b]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." she says with a coy smile on her face.
“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 becomes impatient to leave but stays for a moment.
Vriskella heaves a sigh of relief as she collapses down to the floor and sits, stretching her legs out and trying to relax herself for a moment, finally able to enjoy a reprieve. Sure, she's still chained, and the hours passing have left little hope for formulating a proper, cohesive plan to escape, but now that she's off of her feet she can at least think a little bit clearer.
But then Carys slips back into thoughts, which linger almost botheringly upon her. Something about what scant bits of information that she could gleam about Carys didn't quite connect with the visitor she had received. Rather than start up anything she remains quiet and contemplative, trying in her head to connect the dots without getting her hopes up too much that Carys had been keeping some manner of help secret from them all this time. Vriskella feels she'll simply have to sit in wait and hope that the wheels were in motion, and not that she was going to have to resort to some pathetic, weepy-eyed sobbing trick to get uncuffed. That would have been unbecoming of anyone.
Carys remains stone faced throughout the initial process, but upon hearing the demand made, she blinks and opens her insectoid eyes wide, mouth agape. "Oh, of, of course," she stammers. "Yes. Old Moor Road, a single lantern on the second story."
She accepts the handkerchief curiously, sniffing it and touching part of it with her tongue. "What am I to do with this?"
Tiadora watched her friend's chosen advocate with feigned interest. However upon her questioning instead of inspecting, the woman seemed annoyed and disappointed. "I suppose licking it is at least a form of inspection, good thing it isn't poisoned to put against the guard's mouths..." she says quietly and condescendingly.
She shakes her head "I was told you had some magical capability within you? If you look at it carefully both with the divining eye and with your own two natural, you'll see these little patches hidden as embroidery. If one were to say pull the threads, marvelous things similar to their shapes may appear." she says as she leans forwards and whispers quietly to your ear. Her tone shows that while she was sent here as part of a mission, she isn't the happiest with the assignment.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Carys sneers sarcastically. "I can tell what it is, jerkass, I was asking if you expected me to stash it inside me. Neither direction seems very comfortable for that purpose either. What is this anyway, chiffon?" She glides it between her fingers. "Oh. No, it's silk. I suppose you could have chosen worse material for me to shove up there. This is so incredibly soft, hoooolyyyy heckfire."
The woman stares at her for a few seconds. You can't tell if it's from sheer disbelief in what she was just asked or mere contemplation till she opens her mouth. Her words come out in a hiss "I don't care what you do with it, I was simply sent to deliver it. Now hurry up and hide it however you please before the Sergeant returns."
She looks over your shoulder and through the iron bars of the window of the door. She watches carefully like this for about half a minute before her charade is once again donned and the grieving woman has appeared before you once again.
Her message delivered, she rises as the guards return. “No, I can’t bear to leave you!” She gives Carys a kiss on the cheek. The kiss is ice-cold and feels somehow alien and inhuman.
Tomas shakes his head. “I’m afraid it’s time, miss.” She looks deep in Tomas’ eyes and says, “Thank you for letting me say good-bye. There’s no need to search my dearest. You are such a good friend for letting me see my dearest one more time.”
“Such a good friend.” Tomas repeats his voice almost mechanical. Then the watch sergeant seems to snap out of it and bows politely. “A pleasure, madam.” She leaves unveiled. Her eyes meet the Carys' one last time and she briefly gives them a wicked smile.
Suddenly and intrusively, you hear her voice in her head. Three Days.... there is a slight pause as she exits the room before you hear faintly Don't disappoint us, dearest.
With the Visitation concluded, Carys is hoisted up once again by two of the guards and the six total guards that visited the prisoners once before are back again to deposit Carys back upon the floor and secure her shackles back to the chains once again.
One of the guards carries with them a bag, which they up end unceremoniously in between the PCs. Rolls of hard bread, old and slightly molding cheese, and two waterskins filled with stale water tumble upon the floor. Once the guards are assure of their prison being secured properly and their "meals" delivered, the secure the cell and leave once more.
Ella slumps to the floor as one of her cellmates voices leave in what seemed like a flutter of soft insanity. She was still going to die, but at least she could reach her blindfold and SEE!! Eyes, one eye dark cherry, one vibrant purple, scan the people in the cell for the first time, finally putting faces to voices. A grim smile and a tired Hello follows.
She is impressed at the guards actual restraint given the amount of beautiful women shoved helpless in a cell together. Though the size and oddity of the man beside her could blunt any libido.
"What is he?" she thinks to herself and discovers that she has no idea. So she asks What are you? with plain curiosity.
When the lawyer returns, her eyes widen in surprise. At least her own eyes are no longer the weirdest. "Thank you." she tells Carys as she reaches for her share of food. And only her share.
Ileosa dropped the to floor when they let them out of the shackles. It was enough to give her arms time to rest. "I was starting to wonder if we'd be in those shackles till they take us away."
When Ella asked her question, Ileosa gave a small chuckle. "I was curious myself but I wasn't going to ask." She admitted before she finally stood.
When brought food she gave a side way look at it before sighed and moving over to take her share. "I guess we are lucky to get any food at all hmm? Since we are to die soon enough." Ileosa said before she picked off the mold and toss it out of the cell onto the hall floor.
Carys crouches and angles her lap upwards to try and reach the space between her legs, offering no explanation. "Food's not important now. We need to get back on that break out train."
Carys' blue face flushes with blood, turning purple as she pulls a strange face indicating pain or discomfort. There is a soft but unmistakable squelch as she pulls out the silk veil. She displays it covertly before the group. "First off, where that's been is nobody's business but my own, understand? Second, the lady that was just here has given us our ticket out of here." She waves the damp veil. "This is it. This should help us escape. This veil has threads sewn in that, when pulled, will allow us to access certain things that we need or couldn't escape without. We're doing this right?"
She clicks her tongue when nobody responds. "Now come on. Vriskella, was it? You literally just invoked the name of Our God, drawing His attention to us, to this spot, and then that woman shows up, immediately after I asked the fires of Hell to light our path and guide our exit? We're doing this!"
She gets a little loud near the end and looks around quickly to see if the guards heard, tucking the cloth back inside her before anyone can see.
After a few seconds, she waddles as far as the chains allow and grabs some food, shoving her share in her mouth without hesitation.
"Name'f Caryf by the way," she mumbles, mouth full. A gulp and then, "Carys Bighorn."
So many questions have run through Vriskella's analytical mind as she sits in wait for the other Tiefling's return, but when Carys returns and withdraws something from her nethers, so, so many more explode within her mind. There's no time for them, though, as Carys first explains what it is and then the timing of matters, the words 'that woman' leaving her to wonder if Carys had any true involvement in what happened. "Our faith has been rewarded, just as I expected," she says softly, kissing the knuckles on her clenched fist in lieu of the holy symbol she would often clutch in that hand. "The Lord of Darkness would not leave us to rot in this jail cell. He has plans for us, don't you see? Six capable people, and now the only tools we were missing to make our escape. Let us eat what we can stomach of this abysmal food now, so we have the energy to fight our ways out of here."
Under any other circumstances, Vriskella would not have eaten such horrible food, and even now her pride makes it difficult to choke down the bites of rotted and horrible food, but she holds out and forces it down. She needs the food more than she needs her dignity right now.
Ella's mouth falls open a bit in surprise which transforms into a big smile once she hears everything. "Yes. I'm not a follower of your Lord, but if it gets me out of these chains, I'll gut every guard between here and freedom for you and him. You have my word." she looks at each of them to show her resolve. She would have just promised to Carys, since she is the holder of the veil, but unless it holds a wand of kill everyone in our path, numbers will be important.
She nods at both of the women who have spoken so far. "Alright. The veil has two symbols of Asmodeus, a lockpick kit, some clothes, spell components, fifty foot rope, a hooded directional lantern and two daggers. Who's taking which and what are we doing? I figure we can time our exit to that ogre's complaining," she jerks her head to the side when she mentions the ogre, pointing at him with her head. "But what else? Oh dammit I forgot. It also has a window. Like you pull the thread and a empty window frame appears in the wall. Or in your hands. It wasn't clear.
"Who wants what and what are we doing with it?"
"It doesn't seem the guards are ever away. They're always just a little too close; we should be ready to move when they're distracted by other sounds. It will make cutting them down much easier if an ogre has their attention than if we were to rush out when they would be much more primed to pay mind to our movements. We can shift weapons about once we have some dead guards to loot, but for now, I am fine leaving the tools at our disposal to others, save for one resource I would like to claim: the ogre himself. We should not discount the use of another hand in our escape, especially one with a more brutal hand. If he is obedient and listens well to orders, he can be useful to us in our journey. If he is not, then we can use him as a distraction. Given a moment to speak with him, I'm sure I can persuade him to seek bloody vengeance on his jailors."
Ella shrugs at the large lizard like man ignoring her question. He must wish to be mysterious about his origins. Something a half human bastard can respect.
"Clothes. Please. The weapons can be divided among the rest of you. I prefer to use my hands." she responds matter of fact to Carys, absent-mindedly scratching the metal of her restraints with her rough blackened nails.
"I haven't seen a guard in a while, so if you wouldn't mind... Drack was it... I believe we would all like to be free of these chains."
She nods at the Vriskella's plan. "If our neighbor doesn't speak our tongue, I learned his from the Discord of Odiferous Monstrosities. Horrid book, but useful. Though I can't imagine I'd be as persuasive as you would be." acknowledging her own faults while accepting the gifts of others.
"No, the guards never do seem to be very far, but at least the one assigned to watch us is foolish enough to fall asleep on duty. If even half of his fellow guardsmen have fallen prey to such a sense of complacency, then our circumstances look favorable," Senara comments after a lengthy pull from one of the waterskins. "As for the smuggled goods," she continues, not quite able to refrain from hinting at how objectionable the stowage of said goods. "The daggers are better suited in someone else's hands, to be honest. I have other means at my disposal to deal with those who stand in my way. But I will need some of those spell components."
Senara's plush, bruised lips turn down into a pout at the talk of setting free an ogre. Though she is aware of the usefulness of having the giantkin as an ally during their escape, the unpredictability of such creatures made the idea an unattractive one to the young lady. But considering the consensus among her companions, such as they are, Senara keeps her disapproval to herself. "If you think yourself capable of reasoning with it, then by all means. You three," Senara glances from Vriskella to Drack to Carys, "Will probably stand a better chance of negotiating peaceably with the ogre, at least. I doubt its kind has any love lost for us humans after all."
"A change of clothes would be welcomed." Ileosa said with a nod, as she had to agree with Ella that she wanted something else to wear. "Though, it may be a better idea if we wait to change till after we escape." She commented after a moment. "Give me a one of the symbols of Asmodeus and unless other object, I will take a dagger as well." Ileosa answered with a small smile.
"Now, as to this ogre? Where is his cell?" She asked.
Carys kicks Drack as he reaches for the silk veil. "What the f$%+! You think that you can just grab a lady?? I will gut you and climb inside your body for warmth. Hands off the merchandise, Mister!!"
"I have a way with those of dim intellect." Vriskella brags, her demeanor beginning to rise as the plan comes together and things begin to look up. Asmodeus has intervened, just as expected, and now she will find the freedom she seeks. "Given a moment and some kind words, I should be able to rekindle his will and convince him that the only way to be saved is to heel and follow us. It will be nice having someone to order around again; the damned witch hunters killed all of my old toys."
"And assuming the ogre comes easily, I will still have my spells in full. I can charm people into doing my bidding; not much, but enough that I could make them disarm and become ripe for picking off, or I can make the ground slipper and send them crashing down. Beyond that, I will keep my uplifting performances to dance so that we can maintain the element of stealth; keep your eyes on me, and your attacks will strike true." Putting all of her tools out on the table is a trust exercise; Vriskella will gain nothing playing close to the hilt with her abilities, and thus far her fellow prisoners stand out as strong enough individuals to not be kicked around and made to heel. If they will be her equals, she needs to make it clear she's treating them as such.