| John Malueg |
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Mostly this post is to introduce the PC's. I took the time to actually write it with some thought. More posts up to Book 4 are to come as I am able to complete them. Hope you enjoy.
Book 1
Rain thundered against the outside of the wagon, the occasional peal of thunder drowning out the creak and groan of the axles. It did nothing for the stink within the rough burlap sacks worn over the heads of the worst criminals of Talingarde. They were six, strangers to each other, strangers to this land of lawful, good hearted citizens. Chained together on their way to death or worse, they sat in silence. The stuffy wagon stopped once before lurching on, only to stop a few moments later. Muffled voices from outside heralded the approach of guards outside, ready to take the criminals to their cell. Swiftly they were led inside, the pounding rain only enhancing the stench of the hoods.
Dragged inside by the chain linking them together, the six men found the chill of the thundering storm outside replaced with a stifling heat. In a blink, the hoods were removed and their vision gradually accustomed to the reddish light of the room. A dark-haired man with a smug smirk, clad in the uniform of a Talingarde guardsman stands before them, a red-hot poker in his hand.
“I am Sergeant Blackerly, and welcome to Branderscar. Your stay here will be short. You were the worst scum of this kingdom. With this brand, you are forever Forsaken, from the kingdom and the shining light of Mitra.” he tells them. With a gesture to another guardsman, the first of the prisoners’ arms is lifted.
“Shaldwin Nightblade,” Blackerly begins, speaking to a muscular half-elf, “you are found guilty of the crime of high theft from the Cathedral of the Shining Lord. The sentence is life doing hard labor in the salt mines.” With a simple motion, Blackerly brands the half-elf rogue with a runic “F”, then proceeds to the next. (Half-elven Knife Master Rogue, NE)
“Gorde Hammersnout,” raising the arm of a twitching, bald-headed dwarf with a nose clearly the victim of several fractures, “you are found guilty of multiple counts of murder. The sentence is death by beheading.” (Dwarf monk, LE)
“Lowgrut Shattertooth,” raising the arm of a massive half-orc, “you are found guilty of willful desertion of your post, leading to the death of your commanding officer in the King’s army. You will be hung from your neck until dead.” (Half-orc Fighter, LE)
“Ivo Shandor,” raising the arm of a thin, black haired and bearded man, “you are found guilty of consorting with the powers of darkness, may Mitra have mercy upon you. May the burning light of your pyre release you from the evil life you have led.” (Human Witch, NE)
“Feldon of Tarrington Fields, you are a found guilty of arson, causing the willful destruction of several fields, dozens of livestock, a temple of Mitra and the deaths of the priests and orphans therein. The sentence is to be burned alive at the stake.” The blue-haired gnome with red eyes merely stared at Blackerly as he received his brand. (Gnome pyromaniac Oracle of Flame, LE)
“And finally, Adrobanderiel Barca, of House Barca. You are found guilty of dueling to the death with a member of House Darius. The sentence is death by beheading.” The tall elf merely rolled his eyes at Blackerly. (Elven Blackblade Magus, LE)
“In three days’ time, your sentences will be executed. Take them away!” commanded Blackerly.
| John Malueg |
An hour later...
“No prison can hold the Nightblade!” Shaldwin hissed through his teeth, straining against his shackles. After a few moments struggle, he slumped again against the wall, still shackled.
“Save your strength, fool, I doubt you will break those chains. Even if you do, how will you get past the door?” mumbled Feldon around the mouthguard which blocked his use of spells. Approaching footsteps silenced the group as Sergeant Blackerly approached with Gorde in tow, looking rather confused. Swiftly the dwarf was shackled again and the group of villains left to the quiet of their cell. Hushed arguing again broke out as the group devised scheme after scheme of escape with little hope of success. With no weapons or tools, their fate appeared sealed.
It was at that point that Ivo noticed the white cloth clutched in the hand of Gorde, who was staring longingly at the item. Snarling, Ivo said “You idiot, how long have you had that?”
“The pretty white-haired woman gave it to me; she wasn’t very nice.” replied Gorde.
“What… who… nevermind, hold it up so I can see it.” Ivo sputtered. As Gorde held the white veil up and stutteringly told his story of meeting the white-haired woman, Shaldwin noticed a particular item on the cloth.
“Those look like lockpicks.” He said.
“Idiot dwarf, peel those off the cloth.” commanded Ivo. Reluctantly, Gorde followed the command. In his scarred hands he now held a set of exquisite lockpicks. Tossing the picks to Shaldwin, the rogue began attempting to pick the worn locks of the shackles. Gorde began removing a few of the other items: a satchel of spell components, a wooden symbol of the dark god Asmodeus, a couple of daggers. However, freedom yet eluded the villains as they were still shackled. While Gorde was peeling items from the cloth, Shaldwin Nightblade, self-proclaimed greatest thief in Talingarde, found himself continuing his string of bad luck. Three times he dropped the picks, failing to open the shackles, each time managing to muffle the clatter of the picks upon the ground. Finally, with great effort, the Nightblade managed to undo the shackle point for the villains’ feet, freeing the chain which bound them together. It was, of course, this effort which finally alerted the nearby guards, prompting one to walk over and investigate.
For once, things went the way of the wicked, as the hung-over and exhausted guard simply snarled at the prisoners to keep quiet and then, noticing nothing out of the ordinary, began slowly strolling away from the cell. Within moments, the remaining prisoners were freed and crept out of their cell. Gorde, using the chain from the leg shackles, snuck up behind the hung-over guard as the guard approached the corner to the guard room and attempted to loop the chain about the guard’s neck. Whether it was the clink of the chain or the soft patter of so many feet, the guard startled and Gorde’s attack missed.
With a cry, the guard attempted to pull his longsword, but before he could do so he was tackled to the ground by Adrobanderiel and Lowgrut. As the first guard toppled to the ground, Ivo stepped around the corner to confront the other guard who had a signal horn half-way to his lips.
“Nothing to see here, the other guard is just giving us our daily beating.” Ivo stated charmingly. With a glassy-eyed smile, the remaining guard lowered his horn and sat back at his table, his back to the scuffle occurring just around the corner from him. He died much more quietly than his friend.
| John Malueg |
“Damn humans,” Adrobanderiel muttered darkly as he buckled on the sword belt of the dead guard. Said dead guard’s uniform now hung loosely on the elf’s slim frame, although with his ears tucked into the helmet, at a distance, he would pass for human. On the other side of the room, Shaldwin did much the same, this time the outfit barely concealing his bulging muscles. With a quiet thud, an ogre lumbered around the corner, accompanied by the blue-haired oracle.
“We have an ogre.” He said with glee.
“Grumblejack help.” replied the ogre. It was clear to the villains that time was not their ally, so their quest to escape must be quick. Lowering Shaldwin, headfirst, down the chimney shaft, the knife master spied two servants busily preparing food in the kitchen. Hauling the rogue back up, the oracle cackled with joy and insisted the others lower him down by his feet.
Once lowered, he eyed his targets. Looking at a servant, the oracle held out his newly acquired symbol of Asmodeus and barked a command. Immediately, the woman who had been chopping onions decided to chop at her cohort instead. Swiftly aiming at other servant, another harsh word of command was spoken. The other servant immediately stabbed at his now-confused attacker, to little effect. With horror growing in both their eyes, both began screaming, bringing a guard from the main hall to check on the ruckus. As the confused guard listened to the two wildly jabbering cooks in the kitchen, Ivo used his magic to beguile the other remaining guard in the main hall to head for Blackerly’s office. While the guards were gone, the villains made haste through the main hall and out into the courtyard.
As the first light of freedom hit their faces, the villains were thrilled – the inner door to the courtyard had been left open! However, because fortune is ruthlessly fickle, the two sentries atop the entryway noticed the ogre and assorted smaller humanoids rather quickly. With all due haste, the villains charged the entryway, Shaldwin and Adrobanderiel waiting back a few moments in their guard uniforms.
With a heave of his mighty hand, Grumblejack sent the door bar flying from the outer entryway door, before barreling it open with his shoulder. Before the villains stretched the downward sloping, zigzagging run to the mainland. With a cry of exultation, the villains ran onwards towards the final guardhouse and freedom. Unfortunately, as the ogre had opened the door, the horns of the sentries above sounded. It was at this time that Shaldwin and Adrobanderiel ran out of the main hall shouting “The prisoners are escaping!” and running to the gatehouse.
Arrows sliced through the air, some missing, others finding their mark in flesh. Wounded and winded, the villains came upon the final gate, a large portcullis. Ivo, silken veil in hand, pulled the window from the enchanted cloth and flung it to the gate, creating an instant opening. Swiftly Ivo and Lowgrut dove through the opening, only to contend with guards and their dogs on the other side. Barely breaking stride, Grumblejack hurled Feldon (who had been under his arm the entire sprint from the gatehouse) through the opening before hurling himself up and over the guardhouse. Closing on the portcullis were Shaldwin and Adrobanderiel, firing arrows at the guards ahead of them. With combined effort, the villains were able to slay the guards and their dogs before any pursuit could close with the guardhouse. Weary but free, Lowgrut led the group on a course into the moors. Despite the best attempts of the native denizens of the swamplands, the group managed to stagger, muddy and bloody, to the manor house on Old Moor Road, the one with a single lantern lit in the second story.
End Act I