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?
Smaller than most others in the room is what looks to be a mere child....
no, wait, not a child, a gnome.
A gnome with hair of red and orange, wild, and unkempt, the smell of smoke lingers about the gnomish girl.
at first she seems unresponsive, maybe asleep. but a wicked smile crosses her lips. soon her situation becomes realized. yet still she smiles.
"There's warmth in ice;
There's cooling peace in fire
And midnight light to show us all the way
The dancing flame becomes a funeral pyre
The dark was more enticing than Day"
she recites the poem in a morbid tone. as she open her eyes. she glances at the brand upon her arm, looking to the others all bearing the same brand.
"F" for fire, "F" for flame.... she looks about the rest of the room, I wonder where my bear could be....
"...F*cked my dear ..."
a languid voice rings dull and tired in the hollow cell.
" ...your bear is f*cked ... we are f*cked .... F is for f*cked ..."
on her last word she chokes up and hold back a multitude of tears. Only one tear surfaces without a whimper or sniffle as she tosses her hair back. if they've hurt my Sigmund ...
Imogene clears her throat and lets out an awkward spurt of chuckle.
" ... i'll f*ck anyone who assists me in getting out of here ... "
she continues to laugh and clears her throat again.
" Master Orc, what say you? You seem .... quite fit ..."
Sibylla hangs lifeless, listening rather than watching and thinking rather than speaking. Forsaken? Yes, but it was she who had forsaken them. She who had pledged her service and soul to another. She had chosen to break all bounds of fellowship. What would follow was as much her own doing as that of any other. She smiles, thinking. The hound ran down the fox, but had he carried the fox into the hen house? Eight others. Nine souls in all. An especially favored number. The Dark Lord helps those that help themselves.
Shaken from her contemplation by the fitful gnome and lusty woman Sibylla's smile grows broader. Of course, the Dark Lord also saw fit to provide for those that were worthy. Though her teacher had abandoned her, though he had betrayed her, it appeared not everyone had. Certainly not the important one.
Ever since the moment she was brought in the woman held a regal pose and so she continued to do since the day she came in through the doors. Though for some reason she went very willingly, a joyous smile on her face. "Oh don't mind me." She said when she got the manacles shut on her wrists and legs. " Just enjoying the memories of last week. I wonder if he was pleased, hi hi hi." She giggled. She didn't speak much but had moments of private mirth when she recalled something that happened.
The moment the black haired girl threw around profanities she nods her head sideways and clicks her tongue.
"Oh please girl, no one will want your pussy if you are practically giving it away... Why someone might think there might be something wrong with it. Ha ha ha" She laughs. The sound is clear and pure. A genuine smile is present on her face, which seems way too clean for all the disgusting filth that is present in the room. Why there aren't even any marks on her most of the other prisoners have on them from the questioning before their incarceration.
"No you must tease them with it, draw them close when they think they might have a taste and pull away. That is the way to bind weak willed men to you and have them jump through hoops for you." The woman continues to tease with a light tone.
Leaning against the cell wall was a man who appeared bored; not anxious, nervous or angry as one might expect given the predicament... just really bored. He was a handsome man though, tall, lean and athletic, but not bulky. He had short dark hair, icy blue eyes, and though he hadn't shaved for days, he appeared only to have a slight shadow of stubble growing on his face.
While he appeared bored, the reality was he was really just lost in thought Well Damién, you always knew this could happen... the price of sedition. Did we make a difference I wonder? Was it worth it?
As the discussion turns more provocative among some of the women Damién was locked up with, his blasé facade finally broke. Listening quietly, a slight grin slowly evolved on the young man's face. Glancing over towards half-breed bruiser situated near him, Damién laughs lightly and adds "Must admit, I like where this is going all of the sudden."
"F is for Fornicator then?" Yanev says forcing a smile across his face. "Or maybe just for fool."
He coughs to clear his thought, then speaks out loudly in an accent placing him in the upper classes of Talingarde society "Guard, if you come in here we can make it well worth your while."
The Guard placed outside the cell turns and looks, he narrows his eyes in suspicion.
"Whatta you want?" He demands.
There is something in knowing that the next time you see light, it would likely be your last that made the experience in Branderscar more profound.
His previous time in prison was much like this: anger, frustration, despair, and boredom. The long stretches where silence and time blended together. Only routine could tell him how much time had passed.
But he was innocent then in a place where crimes were lesser. Prisoners would console themselves: At least we weren't sent to Branderscar.
And now he was.
His skin felt the cold stone, the accumulating filth and grime. There was soreness in his arms from days of being bound above him and his wrists and ankles chafed where they've been clasped by metal. He inhaled and already he is used to the stench of urine, feces, and unwashed bodies that filled his lungs. His mouth is dry and the slop they called food would have been better off vomited if death by starvation wasn't the slower, more painful choice.
But perhaps he would still have time to experience it. They wouldn't be allowed to die, not just yet without having been made an example of. He could feel the phantom of a burn where his arm had been branded.
His eyes, adjusted to the dark, looked over the walls, the bars, the guard posted outside the bars, the chains and the people they chained. He could hear the breathing of other bodies and the talk of his fellow prisoners. A way to stave off boredom or for the mind to be distracted from the situation it was put into. Give it something else to focus on so it would have hope, blinding itself to survive.
But not him.
No, he knew full well the reality of his situation. He made sure to experience every aspect of it and savor each moment. He knew now that revenge with full knowledge of what you wanted revenge for was the most fulfilling. Even if he could not pay it back in full, a small vengeance would still be something to savor.
His lips cracked as they curved into a small smile.
The guard posted outside their cell rarely paid attention and his throat protested with soreness when he said, "Freedom would be a nice start. It starts with F as well, doesn't it?"
The guard looks annoyed. "F*ck off, mate." He says as he turns away.
From down the hall the prisoners see the warm glow of a torch held aloft that gets brighter as it approaches and you overhear a pair of voices speaking.
"This prison is vile." A deep male voice says in disgust. "That such an atrocity still exists in our fair kingdom is an affront to Mitra."
"Well, only the worst of the worst are sent here." A higher pitched feminine voice replies. "And only after their guilt is as assured as is possible."
The speakers walk into view.
The male is a strongly built older man in full plate, a torch in his hand and a greatsword slung across his back. His face is weathered and his hair is grey but his eyes are bright and aware, full of strength and compassion.
"Look at this." He says, gesturing into your cell. "No sentient being, no matter how black-hearted should be made to suffer like this."
The woman, a blonde haired beauty dressed in flowing blue robes that suggest she is some kind of spellcaster, shrugs.
"I tend to agree with you." She says. "I suggest mentioning it to the King so he can add it to his list of reforms, he always listens to you."
"I'll do more than that." The older man says. "I'll get his approval to transfer the prisoners to somewhere more humane and then burn this place to the ground with my own two hands."
The woman smiles sadly. "That will take awhile to get approval for, won't do much to help out those poor sods currently here."
The older man looks at the prisoners speculatively. "Well, perhaps we can show them some small kindness before we leave later today." He says and turns to continue walking.
The pair disappear further down the hall.
The hulking half-orc fellow finally stopped struggling against his shackles when the raven-haired girl made her pass at him. Little woman... all talk... He took her words for mocking and grew disgusted when the other woman joined her in the jest. Well aware that his wits were no much for their own, he simply grunts and spits in the their general direction.
Although, the distraction was welcome. He was thrown out of his anger long enough to realize he was getting no-where struggling this way. He was already dripping in sweat and nearly foaming at the mouth. His wrists were chaffed to the point of bleeding. He catches his breath and takes in the other prisoners for a moment. Looks like a whole buncha softies been locked up for tea time in here. I thought Branderscar was for the real animals. What could this lot be capable of? No bother... we're all dead meats anyway...
He shakes a dripping tendril of long black hair away from his face, and replies in turn to the young man with the blue eyes.
"There's not a damn thing I like about where this is going..."
He listens as the scrawny men around him bother the guardsmen, and as the pair of nobles approach their cell. High born scum. Who needs their pity!? Little good their pity would do 'em, say I could get my claws round their pretty necks.
Their presence awoke his hatred for the ruling class of Talingarde. His hatred fueled his anger. Moments after the pair walks away, Varmint restarts his struggle against his chains.
The little gnome girl smiled at the thought of burning this place to the ground, something she will gladly assist with, approved or not.
she also takes note that many of the others have already nearly disconted her.
that was just the way she liked it. it was the way she survived for as long as she did.
Annie tests the limits of the chains checking for enough slack to allow her to use her magic.
Observing the larger orcish man's response to his overture, Damién shrugs and plainly and adds "Fair enough, not your thing I suppose." Leaving it at that, Damién chose not to antagonize the large half-breed any further; it was plainly evident that the women in the cell had done just that, and he saw no reason to add insult to injury.
Listening to the conversation outside, Damién rolls his eyes and sighs sardonically, and then muses "Sadly, such reforms will come to late for us here I suspect."
Yanev looks up and down the other companions, the orc certainly looked strong and few of the others looked capable. SHe pitches his voice low so as to not alert the guard and says "These chains are certainly strong, but this place doesn't look like its had the maintenance it needs. If we all pull at the same time will we might pull the whole chain free from the wall or pull the wall down. Not particularly safe for us I know, but what do we have to lose?"
"Our limbs?" Johann says, voice light but with the slightest hint of a reprimand. He doesn't look capable of much strength being an old man. "And even if we could do that, the noise would be enough to alert the guards. And even if we avoided that too, we have little way of getting out of this cell unless you also plan to rid the door with sheer physical strength."
"True, it is a poor plan but I'm currently low on good plans and don't plan on sitting around waiting for them to kill me. Do you have a plan? Even an equally bad one?"
"Not yet." Sibylla speaks for the first time. "Tonight. When the knight and his companion along with any with them have left." Her voice is similarly pitched low at a whisper.
The prisoners hear a strange squeaking noise that emanates from a cart's unoiled wheels as the knight and mage return, pushing a cart carrying plates with sweet confections, wine cups, and a large decanter.
"My name is Sir Rothschild." The older knight introduces himself. "And this sorceress is Praderol."
The blond woman smiles and nods.
"I understand that being imprisoned can bring great anger and despair, I have suffered myself once at the hands of the Drow." The knight tells you. "While I cannot free you I have brought you Angels Cakes, cake sweetened with honey and fruit and cooked in brandy and a sweet wine to wash it down. I am going to enter the cell and unchain you so you can eat. While you may be tempted to attack me and attempt to free yourselves I do not recommend it. I am armed and you are not and Praderol is one of the foremost sorceresses in the kingdom and will stay outside the cell, she is perfectly capable of killing you all if you attack."
With that the Knight unlocks the cell and pushes the cart inside before locking the door and handing the cell key to Praderol.
He then draws a second key and begins unchaining you with the intention of serving you food.
Angelica looks upon the odd couple and tries to remember if she knows their names.
"Well if that isn't kind of you ser knight. Pray tell what led you to come to us to enlighten these dark circumstances?" She asks with a sweet voice.
"Why are you doing this? What's in it for you? You will have to bribe me with a lot more than sweet cakes if you want the formula."
The woman known simply as Praderol is a sorceress who gained fame at court for first stopping the seditious plans of the Lich Bellathon, then defeating the undead spellcaster in its own trap filled lair.
Both are trusted advisers to the King of Talingarde.
"We are here to investigate possible corruption at Branderscar, which we have found. Embezzlement and humanoid rights violations mostly." The knight replies. "As for bringing you Angel Cakes, well, everyone deserves some on one of Mitra's feast days."
Having finished unlocking the chains and freeing the prisoners Rothschild begins pouring the wine and passing out the plates, ensuring everyone gets a large slice of cake and something to wash it down with.
With a shrug, Damién accepts the cake and wine and nods with a gracious grin "Normally I'd be suspicious of poison in these circumstances... but I am due to hang or burn or something or another, so why not throw caution to the wind, right?" Taking a sip of the wine, Damién savors the first luxury he has experience in weeks.
Leaning against the wall, Damién addresses Rothschild somewhat whimsically "Humanoid rights? What a novel concept... of course, no such things exist here at Brandescar." Taking another sip of wine, Damién's tone turns more acerbic as he continues "Don't believe what the Warden here tells you Sir Rothschild; whatever story they weave for you, know that this place is hell on earth devoid of anything so civil as humanoid rights."
"I am well aware of what kind of place this is." Rothschild replies, his tone mellow and reasonable with no trace of antagonism. "And it will be erased during the reforms if I have anything to say about it. This arm of our justice system is antiqued and unnecessary and it will be fixed in time."
Johann stretches his limbs and shoulders first, working them out through their soreness for the first moment of rest. The relief is both an agony and pleasure.
He drinks the wine after, wetting his lips and throat while ignoring the sting at his open sores. He looks at the knight and sorceress and inhales their appearance, a fresh change from the tedium in his cell.
"Well, you have my thanks," he says, a kind smile on his face as he then accepts the cake. "This is quite a novelty, being served sweet food and wine in the worst prison by famous persons as yourselves."
He closes his eyes, reflecting on the moment: the dissonance of the filth coating the cell and the neatness of the two before him, the new awareness of the foul odor he had become accustomed to contrasting with cleaner and more delicious scents, the pains of his body calling for his attention now that they were no longer being pained.
When he opens them again, he turns his attention to the food.
He approaches the cake first as a critic, drinking in its smell and appearance before eating it with measured bites. He prolongs his enjoyment of the taste and texture in his mouth but doesn't let it linger too long in his mouth lest the taste become bland.
He takes sips of the wine between every few bites, watching it in the glass first, then sniffing it, then holding it in his mouth before swallowing to enjoy the aftertaste.
Through it all, he seems unconcerned with the company, seemingly focused on the meal before him.
Rothschild accepts the thanks then waits quietly for the prisoners to finish.
"This is very fine quality," Johann comments, eating the last of his cake and finishing it with wine. "Very unusual to have it all the way here in Branderscar. Not that I'm complaining, of course, but it is curious nonetheless."
How can I take advantage of this? Trying to attack this knight might be a quick death, but it is not time to give up. The festival will probably mean the off duty guards will be drunk or in town tonight, if we can get free it will be a good chance to escape, as long as these two don't stick around. If I were more dexterous I might be able to palm a dagger or the cake knife and try to pick the locks once they were gone but I'm not so that won't work. Maybe one of the other will have the same idea. Stealing anything with the woman look at us will be hard, maybe can do my part and distract her for a bit.
Yanev looks up and smiles at Praderol "Can I get you piece of cake and wine my lady Praderol. Pardon me but I feel greedy stuffing my face while our kindly hosts have nothing.” Picking up a plate of cake and wine glass he looks to the knight for permission to get up and go to the sorceress.
"This is very fine quality," Johann comments, eating the last of his cake and finishing it with wine. "Very unusual to have it all the way here in Branderscar. Not that I'm complaining, of course, but it is curious nonetheless."
"The Warden hasn't been doing a very good job with the upkeep of the prison, however he seems to have no problem affording the finest foodstuffs for himself out of the institutions budget. I have no problem relieving him of some of his cakes." Rothschild comments in a wry tone.
Yanev looks up and smiles at Praderol "Can I get you piece of cake and wine my lady Praderol. Pardon me but I feel greedy stuffing my face while our kindly hosts have nothing.” Picking up a plate of cake and wine glass he looks to the knight for permission to get up and go to the sorceress.
The Sorceress standing outside the cell politely shakes her head. "I have already eaten today and Angel Cakes are too rich for my blood anyway." She informs the Doctor. "Thank you."
Varmint sits with a loud thud, happy to be out of his chains, but showing no gratitude for it. He guzzles his goblet of wine quickly, twin streams running down either side of his mouth. His life rarely afforded him such luxuries, and as fine as this wine may be, he still would have prefered an ale.
Booze is booze... he thinks and reaches for the decanter to pour himself another. He has no taste for sweets however... after all, nothing tastes as sweet as drawing the enemies blood...
As the prisoners finish up Rothschild collects the plates and glasses and moves to leave, he does not remanacle any of the prisoners hands over their heads again though, simply leaving the iron cuffs around their feet in place. After he exits, relocks the cell and pushes the cart down the hall with the sorceress the guard standing outside the cell turns to you with a furious look on his face.
"Rancid scum, I hope you enjoyed that bleeding heart's kindness, it's the last you'll ever see in this life." He sneers.
Annie relaxes a bit as the manacles come off. rubbing her wrists some, looking them over I do hope there are no permanent scars she quietly wonders aloud, not that it will matter much.
She takes some of the cake but refuses the wine. thinking that since she refused the wine she deserved extra cake. she takes plenty of extra.
looking toward her benefactors. she gets up and tries her best to curtsy (without a dress, it is rather awkward) but it is apparent she does try to be courteous.
I am sorry to bother you, but in your tours, have you seen a brown bear? he is about this tall and missing his left eye, and some of the stitching is coming apart, oh he has a patch on his right leg. describing her stuffed bear.
"It's all well and nice of you to hand us some food. But don't think for a moment anything will change here. When the two of you leave, the warden will just continue with his abuse. You should have seen what he did to the little red head last time. Tsk tsk. The guard outside just watched and laughed. Of course they will say that we lie and since we are prisoners no one would believe us. It would be their word against that of a convict." Xerice says dramatically hoping to try to get the warden in some trouble.
After the duo has left, Angelica muses "Isn't it adorable how those goody two shoes think they can clear their conscience of this place by handing out some cakes. Still those were some nice cakes..."
Johann shakes his head but says nothing more, resting his wrists by his sides and closing his eyes to reflect on the event.
Yanev nods at Angelica "I think you are right, they were just trying to clear their conscience." He drops his voice a bit "However sounds like there will be a lot of wine being passed around the off duty guards tonight, maybe even the on duty ones. If we can find a way free of these shackles then this evening will be our best hope."
Somewhat bemusedly, Damién listens as Angelica attempted to weave a tale of deceit. Glancing over at Annabelle, he wondered if she would play along with the yarn Angelica was weaving. Taking one last sip of the wine, Damién leaned back against the wall and sighed.
"Or perhaps they're true Mitran believers who legitimately think they can change this place," with a nonchalant shrug and rolling of his eyes, Damién adds "regardless of their motives, their efforts come to late for our sake."
I am sorry to bother you, but in your tours, have you seen a brown bear? he is about this tall and missing his left eye, and some of the stitching is coming apart, oh he has a patch on his right leg. describing her stuffed bear.
"I cannot say that I have." The knight replies, giving the small prisoner a speculative look as he considers her.
"It's all well and nice of you to hand us some food. But don't think for a moment anything will change here. When the two of you leave, the warden will just continue with his abuse. You should have seen what he did to the little red head last time. Tsk tsk. The guard outside just watched and laughed. Of course they will say that we lie and since we are prisoners no one would believe us. It would be their word against that of a convict."
The knight sees through the deception but doesn't chastise or react with anger, he simply says nothing.
Sibylla declines both food and drink, "In three days I am to stand before the dark lord. I would not do so with my lips or soul stained in a Mitrian feast." The priestess instead looks on, waiting until the pair have left.
"I cannot say that I have." The knight replies, giving the small prisoner a speculative look as he considers her.
I am sorry to bother you, but in your tours, have you seen a brown bear? he is about this tall and missing his left eye, and some of the stitching is coming apart, oh he has a patch on his right leg. describing her stuffed bear.
Aww shucks, maybe when I get out of here I'll look you guys up? she says very optimistically as the pair go to leave.
after the goodie guys leave. ya know, they really are a little too trusting, shame they didn't find my bear though. she subtly indicates that their hands remain free.
About thirty minutes later a group of six guards led by the obese Sergeant Tomas Blackerly, the same Sergeant who laughed at each of you as he seared your flesh with the brand, arrives outside the cell.
He points at Angelica.
“You there! That’s the scum! Get her unshackled. If any of you makes trouble, they’ll earn a thrashing!"
The guards unlock the cell and enter, freeing Angelica.
"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.”
"There certainly seem to be a lot of visitors at this place, they certainly don't believe in 'rest in peace'"
"And it seems we're back where we started, Harman," Johann says after the guards are out of earshot, amusement in his words. "Circles within circles. Still like where this is going?"
He then lowers his voice in a conspiration whisper. "I do hope that the sergeant will be inflicted with a measure of suffering. He's grown fat enough from the cakes."
"And Yanev, I don't think they believe in that saying considering they think our souls will be sent to one of the lower planes."