Escape from Ironheart (IC)

[Inspectre]

The Spires: Ironheart Research

Voth

(He tells you that you need to go into the hot foundry on the ground floor for an hour, followed by traveling to the cold meat storage locker in the basement for another hour.)

At first the girl is non-responsive, but eventually by softly shaking her and even more gently smacking the side of her face with your hand you are able to rouse her. As if groggily coming awake out of a dream she stirs, but immediately upon recognizing you she becomes fully “awake”. Loudly screaming, she flails wildly within the narrow confines of the space underneath the desk, ultimately managing to knock the chair over onto the floor and push it out of the way.

She then crawls out from under the desk as quickly as she is able, making for the wall where she stops, huddling against it. “Stay away from me!” She shouts, looking back briefly at you, before hurriedly turning her gaze back to the section of wall right in front of her. Shivering with fear or perhaps revulsion, she remains cowering against the wall, no longer screaming but softly crying.

Ok, you were right to stay. Her reaction just now was totally worth it.

Overhead, the giant red crystal suddenly thrums with life, and begins to glow with a familiar inner light.

Uh oh. Time for us to get out of here if that thing is powering back up. Maybe the Judge had second thoughts about sending us back. Talk to the girl, pick her up and carry her with us, abandon her, whatever. We need to get out of here.

The Prism

Lonna

AS YOU WISH.

The Judge then lowers his hand from his head, instead reaching down to pick you bodily up by a strap hanging loosely from its buckle along your back.

IT IS THE DECISION OF THIS COURT THEN THAT YOU BE REMANDED TO THE CUSTODY OF PRISON OFFICIALS OUTSIDE OF THE PRISM, PENDING THE DATE OF YOUR NEXT EVALUATION OR EXECUTION.

As the Judge concludes speaking, a reddish glow suddenly fills your sight, blocking out the hallway with a featureless sea of red. As quickly as it had appeared, however, the sea of red fades away, and you see that you are now lying on the floor of a roughly circular room, the Judge still towering over you. Although the walls, ceiling, and floor are still made out of the same faceted reddish crystal, a large pillar stands in the middle, running from floor to ceiling. This large singular crystal is more purplish-blue in nature, and transparent enough to see easily inside. Inside the crystal is not one, but two prisoners, entwined together in an eternal embrace. One is male and the other is female, and the skin of both of them is covered in faintly glowing blue runes that extend down to underneath their modest clothing. Both of their eyes are closed, but it seems there is enough room within the crystal to allow their mouths to move, as you see the male’s begin to move as the Judge addresses you.

YOU WILL NOW BE SENT BACK TO IRONHEART. THERE A JUDGEMENT COMMITTEE WILL ASSIGN YOU TO YOUR NEW CELL.

The Judge waves his hand at a large red crystal standing at the far end of the chamber, and its edges begin to twist and bend rhythmically, and within its surface you can see the beginning of a reflection. Although your memory was not perfect, the reflection seemed to be a depiction of the room you were brought into just before appearing within the Prism three months ago.

HOWEVER, PRISON POLICY MANDATES THAT ALL OF A PRISONER’S RESTRAINTS REMAIN ON THEM EXCEPT WHEN AND AS NECESSITY DEMANDS. THEREFORE, YOUR GAG MUST BE REPLACED. IT WILL BE UP TO THE JUDGEMENT COMMITTEE WHEN OR IF THE GAG IS REMOVED AGAIN.

With a wave of his hand again, the Judge suddenly produces the hateful little tangle of straps, kneeling down beside you to silence you once more. But then he stops, and with his free hand he raises it to his temple. Within the crystal, the woman begins to speak.

DO YOU HAVE ANY FINAL QUESTIONS OR COMMENTS BEFORE YOU ARE ONCE AGAIN SILENCED? A FEW SHORT COMMENTS COULD BE FORWARDED ON TO THE JUDGEMENT COMMITTEE TO ENSURE YOU ARE HEARD, EVEN IF YOU CANNOT SPEAK.

(Note that even if I limit people at certain times to just hurling insults at their captors, I very much prefer that the players can do something every post. So rest assured that the rest of Ironheart will still be very interested in what you have to say for yourself. )

The Cells: First Floor

The_Snark

“That’s alright my child, I am thirsty enough to make do. You are already far kinder than the guards who have ignored my pleas for water more than once.”

While you continued trying to sweep up the rest of the water and wring out the man’s shirt over the bucket, he bent down, licking at the stone floor and kissing it, trying to suck up every last bit of moisture, even if he did make numerous faces while doing so. Finally finished with the water, the man grimaces and shakes his head, pawing at his now-dirt covered tongue. Giving up even with that, the man grimaces one final time and then relaxes, lowering his hands to gently grip the bars as he sits down next to them.

For an instant your mind is filled with past images of the man who tried to choke you, and others who had madly flung themselves against the bars at you, but this nice man does none of that. He simply sits there as close to you as he can, holding onto the bars and looking at you with sadness in his eyes. He sits thinking quietly for a moment, and then begins to answer your question, his voice no longer quite so gruff.

“No, I suppose I’m not mean. I’ve always wanted to be someone who helps people, not hurt them.” He begins with a quiet chuckle. “People are so easily lost, led astray by the darkness in their souls. I wished to be beacon for those people, so I became a preacher. Do you know what a preacher is?”

Here, you had to shake your head: Daddy hadn’t taught you that word yet.

“Well, a preacher is someone who teaches people about the gods. Do you know about the gods?”

Here, you did know something. Daddy was your god, and often you would have to pray to him for mercy and forgiveness, usually several times and with a good amount of agonized screaming mixed in, before he would relent and stop your punishment. You weren’t really sure why this nice man had to go around telling people about God. The image of him punishing people, blood-stained whip in hand, just didn’t mesh with your previous image of him as a nice, gentle man. Seemingly oblivious to your confusion, the man continues.

“I taught my people about Athelion the Lightbringer, of his infinite mercy and compassion for humanity. I tried to instill in them what strength I could, and the faith to hang on until the black clouds of darkness over Gast departed and the sun shone forth again. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed, too afraid of the Baron to even imagine a world without him. Some of them listened to the darkness in their hearts, and reported my teachings to the Baron’s men. I swiftly found myself in here. But I still hold onto the hope that Athelion will deliver me, and I will see the sun once more.”

Coming out of his memory, the man blinks and smiles at you. “You know, I don’t believe we ever properly introduced ourselves. My name is Joseph. What’s yours?”

As you momentarily hesitate to answer his question, your mind screaming at you that if you didn’t hurry up you were even going to be late meeting Daddy, you see out of the corner of your eye two guards appear in the hallway from a nearby intersection. On patrol, they turn down the hallway to face you, and you hear one of them exclaim, “What the hells?” Angrily, they both begin to stomp towards you, and you realize that you only have a few more moments with this nice man.

Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

Seraph nods as you answer his question, and then returns to interrogating the elite guard. Remembering the Countess, you return to the hanging device you left her behind, finding her crouched down where you had left her, hands clamping over her ears. At a sudden, particularly agonized cry from the elite behind you, she visible winces.

“Good. Can we get out of here now?” The Countess asks in reply to your comments, lowering a hand from her ears to offer it to you so you could help pull her back up onto her feet. As you help her back up, you notice that the screaming behind you has suddenly gone quiet.

Leading the Countess out from behind the torture device, you see Seraph leaning in close to the elite guard as he whispers something into Seraph’s ear. Pulling his blood-flecked lips back, the elite sneers as Seraph pulls away from him with a grimace of anger.

“My thanks to you.” He says, reaching off and ripping his sword out of the rack and the elite’s hand. As the guard throws his head back to scream again, Seraph grabs a handful of the man’s hair, holding it up while bringing his sword around to slide it along the man’s throat. As a second red mouth appears below the one that the elite was born with, Seraph releases the man, allowing him to collapse in a heap next to the rack, his hand still held above the rest of his body by the chain.

“We have what we need. Let us depart this place.” Seraph grunts, wiping his blade off on the back of the elite before sheathing it. “This way.” He says, walking through the doorway that the guards had used to enter, stepping over the bodies you had left strewn in front of it.

OverWilliam/Adlan

“F . . . f . . . f . . . fu . . .” Timepiece wheezed, desperately trying to reload his weapon as both Tare and Garm tried to convince him to surrender. In his haste, the guard’s blood-slick finger slips on the weapon’s trigger, pulling it early before he had finished properly loading and cocking back the bowstring. As a result, the bolt flipped out over the stock of the weapon, tumbling end over end through the air to land on the floor just a foot or two in front of the stand.

Visibly disappointed as this turn of events, Timepiece frowns as he begins to tremble uncontrollably. Raising one shaking hand, he manages to shape it into a hand-sign which completes his earlier attempted comment. A moment later the guard winces and stiffens, his eyes rolling back into his head as he falls over onto his side on the floor. There, he continues slowly and quietly dying like the rest of his comrades littering the floor.

For the moment, Tare and Garm were alone, although that may not remain the case for long. There were other members of the guards’ betting pool, and one of them might stop by at any minute to see how things were progressing. And they would undoubtedly be displeased at what they found.

On a nearby stand away from the others, a dense forest of glass vials sat. Most were empty, their contents already having been used over the past 48 hours. But some were still full, containing poisons, pain enhancing drugs, stimulants, even a few healing potions in case the guards overdid it. Garm wasn’t especially familiar with the various alchemical brews, but he knew from experience that the guards had them color coded to prevent mistakes, and he had gotten several whiffs of each of the various concoctions, so he knew what they smelled like for sure, even if he didn’t remember which color meant what.

The Cells: Maximum Security

Baerdog7

(OOC: Considers sending in a mime first but realizes that would probably lead to an even more brutal beating than the one about to be given to the acolyte. )

You greedily suck down the healing potion, and instantly the blood flowing down your arms stops, the twin wounds running down your arms resealing entirely and even fading entirely back to faint scars. The dizziness you’ve come to associate with severe blood loss disappears as well, and you feel stronger than you have in a long, long while.

Still, it fails to cure the diseases still ravaging your body, and here and there you can still feel a dull ache as your body continues to rot away. But as you assure your new infernal associate, you were still strong enough to deliver a long-overdue righteous beating.

You creep into the shadows next to the door, and it turns out you don’t have long to wait as a minute later the bolts holding the heavy admantite door shut begin to loudly slide open. With a metallic groan, the door swings open towards you, blocking you even further from the acolyte’s sight as he steps into the room.

The fool even takes several steps into the room, mockingly calling, “Oh, Ander? Lord General Ander? Are you still awake?” But then the light from his lantern fully illuminates the symbol where you had been hanging a moment before, and the acolyte gasps. “Oh no. Oh no no no!”

Turning to flee, the acolyte finally catches sight of you near the doorway, and with a soft cry stumbles back. Stepping onto the patch of floor slick with your spilled blood, the acolyte slips and falls heavily onto his back. He manages to keep hold on the lantern, however, and holds it in front of him like a holy symbol to ward you off as he uses his free hand to push himself back away from you, moving even deeper into the pool of blood and staining his robes.

“P-Please, Lord General, have mercy! I-Isn’t th-that w-what A-A-Ath-Athelion would want?”

The Labs

Iethloc

And what is all this additional power going to do for you? What is it going to cost you and the rest of the world? You’ve already lost your body, do you want to lose your soul too? What’s it going to take until you stop?

Meanwhile, you rush forward and grab the man’s collar, demanding answers. Like some kind of annoying idiot, the man actually smiles, gently trying to break your grip. “*I* didn’t do anything, friend.”

He speaks the truth. I do not sense the noise of a normal mind from him – he’s a projection or construct of some type.

“Now then, since we’ll be spending the rest of eternity together, why don’t we just sit down and share a nice drink? I have a fine bottle of cognac here in my desk, and there’s a fine bottle of Donovale 338 behind one of the books on the bookcase. And of course, water, if you would prefer something nonalcoholic.”

As a magical construct, I do not believe I will be able to manipulate his mind. Or perhaps even read it as there’s not really a mind per se in there. How do you wish to proceed?

Sanctuary of the Prophets

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma

Mellita initially bares her fangs at Victor’s comments, slipping her hand into the concealed pocket of her dress. “Touch me and you’ll lose more than a hand!” She snarls, although at a hand signal from Umber she relaxes with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest.

Meanwhile, the nameless girl holds her flickering torch high, leading the gaggle of children into the room. They all gasp appreciably upon entering the room, still only able to see a tenth of its glorious splendor (to Akor and Umber, at least) in the dim light of the girl’s torch. Busy talking with and examining the vampires and the half-dragon, Victor only gives the girl a brief pass with his eyes, but suddenly they are forced to do a double-take as Victor realizes there’s something . . . wrong with what he was seeing. The girl was clearly human, and yet there was something that Victor’s decades of experience in working with human anatomy told him was off about her. There was a lightness in her steps, a natural gracefulness in her movements Victor had never seen before in a human. It was virtually undetectable, even to Victor’s trained eye, but he had seen it and knew it was there.

Victor was suddenly interrupted from his thoughts and comments with the others by a sudden insistent tug on his pant leg. Looking down, Victor sees that the youngest of the children, a small little girl, has actually come over and was trying to get his attention. “Mister?” She whispered, her voice full of innocent curiosity. “What’s wrong with your face?”

With light now in the room, Cassandra is able to easily pick her way down the steps, and actually greets the group of newcomers with a smile. “Nearly sacrificed by cultists to zombies, nearly killed by those same cultists, and traveling with a skilled necroman – alchemist, excuse me. I thought that was madness enough for one day, but now I get to meet two vampires and a . . . . dragonman? With children?” She shakes her head in amazement, although winces a little as the movement pulls on the expert stitching holding closed her previously-gaping shoulder wound. “Quite a day so far. Maybe it’ll actually end with the impossible after all – Escape from Ironheart! . . . But that might still be holding for too much.”

Apparently losing interest in the continuing conversation over the means to acquire eternal life, Cassandra goes over to sit near the empty fireplace, plopping down on one of the nearby piles of rubble.

Hearing about the presence of food, Akor goes upstairs, quickly returning with the crate full of slaughtered pig-parts and the barrel of scum-covered water. Starting a merrily blaze going in the fireplace with his breath, Akor uses several broken slabs from the resting stones next to the fireplace to cook what pieces of human-edible meat there are out of the mess packed into the crate. With the delicious and unusual in Ironheart smell of cooking meat filling the room, everyone then settles down to lunch, the girl helping to distribute pieces of cooked meat to all of the children with a smile.

The only ones who don’t eat are the vampires, although at one point Mellita leans in close to Umber and whispers, “Lord Umber, I believe there is a quantity of pig’s blood at the bottom of the crate. I really don’t like animal blood, especially if it has been sitting at the bottom of a crate for awhile. Couldn’t we just eat one of the children, it’s not like anyone would miss them?”

Cassandra also doesn’t eat, staring wistfully at the slabs of meat as they cook on the hot stone. “I don’t suppose anyone here is good with a lock pick, and could free my hands?”

Apparently hearing Cassandra mumbled question, one of the children shouts, “Uncle Akor! Do the chain thing!” He then holds up one manacled wrist, trailing the few links of chain that were left behind after Akor mangled the chain to free the child. This prompts the rest of the children to join in, shaking their freed hands and shouting, “Uncle Akor! Do it! Come on, show us it again!”