Yours For The Taking [D&D 3.5] (IC)

[Heart]

I sharp breeze washes over the port town of Haark, waves crash against the docks and people have begun to wrap themselves in clothes, awaiting the fast approaching winter.

With a population of about 900, the town isn't very large, comprised mostly of humans and elves, like the country this town calls home. One looking for weapons of great power, or even weapons of any magical background at all would be pressed for luck, the town has fallen on hard times recently, and most of the money is poured into the town's pub, the Shackled Moon.

The guard was small, a force of about thirty, but the inhabitants were never one to shy away from danger when their town was in need, quick to pick up arms even against the mightiest of foes. They would soon find out this wouldn't be enough.

---
A human male, of about 5'10'' and 165 lbs, heads toward the town prison, nicknamed Erego's Hole, after the jailer. His light brown hair falls to his shoulders in a mess, and he carries himself proudly, with a hint of nervousness. Chainmail links cover his arms and legs, with plates of steel pressed against the shoulders and thighs. Over top his chest rests a tunic, bearing the symbol of Haark's guard, a watchful eye with a burning hand enveloping it. A finely crafted sword and sap are hooked to his belt.

In front of the man walks another, but this one is shackled and a little bruised. Smaller in stature, and wearing a shaved top, the man hunches over as he walks.

The pair enter the prison, the sun beginning to set at their backs, and the guard is greeted by a familiar voice.

"You been bringin' in all kindsa boys for me to keep locked up, Haven't cha, Beran? Even when I tell ya ta go home for the night."

"Erego," the guard nods to the man, "can't even get from here to my home without seeing someone tryin' to lift some poor girl's coin purse these days."

"I ain't done nothin' wrong," says the shackled man.

The man stands up, a loud screech groans from his chair. He stands at a full 6', with a body build to push boulders. His head is completely shaven, one might think the sun would make it glow if it was waxed properly. He wears a dark grey breastplate, tightly fit to his body. A matching set of greaves lie over top black leather pants, and a cloak is wrapped around the man, bearing the guard symbol. His right hand is missing, lost long ago in a war he didn't want to be a part of. A heavy, intimidating spiked mace is hooked to his waste. This is Erego Stronghand (formerly Stronghands).

Erego gets uncomfortably close and sneers at the man. "I'll be the judge of that. Take him downstairs, Beran, I'll set him straight in the morning."

Beran opens the door to the dungeon, which elicits a loud groan. As the two make their way down the stonework steps, each press against the ground ends with a long echo throughout the hall. Immediately, a musty stench assaults Beran's nose. He makes sure to not look into the cell to his immediate left, but does give a casual glance to the Half-Ork. After rounding the corner, he unshackles the man and leads him into the farthest cell. As quickly as Beran entered the dungeon, he disappears at the top, followed by an audible clanking of the gears on the door, the sound of it locking.

[Marlowe]

Amalaswentha's been on her hands and knees in her underwear, a recurring situation that she's been trying lately to avoid. But they took her leathers, which have amounted to her clothes for a while now, and this cell floor really needs a good scrub.

Lucky thing her underwear's fairly substantial. She's never liked the feel of leather against the skin. She still feels vulnerable and exposed. She keeps looking at the mattress on the other side of the cell, wondering what her roommate would be like.

The clanking of chains and the rattle of keys in a lock tell her someone else is coming. Quickly, she steps to the door, and peers sidelong through the bars. Is this it? What am I going to say? Who's it going to be.

It would be incorrect to say she is inwardly panicking, but there's a feeling in her stomach that tells her panicking would definitely be an option right now.

Then she hears a door slam around the corner. Footsteps departing. All goes quiet again.

She breathes out and leans against the wall. "Rats" she mutters, surprising herself.

[hoverfrog]

Mink Orduno

"Hello," Mink saw the shackled brute being delivered to the cell nearby, "another visitor for me. Did you bring me anything to read?" She was growing tired of keeping up the act of being insane but it was that or go back to a forced marriage and that wasn't going to happen. "I've left my book around here somewhere, have you seen it?"

[Machuchang]

"'ello, 'ello, 'ello! Wot 'ave we got 'ere?" Abaddon pressed his face against the bars and waved a tiny hand at the newcomer. "Yoo-hoo! Oi! Wot brings you 'ere sunshine? Y' been stealin? Killin'? Frighten the townsfolk wit' your parlor tricks? Shagged the wrong magistrate's daughter? Here's a hint, it's all of them! ...The magistrates, not the crimes, that is. It's never good to get caught shaggin' anyone's daughter. Well, I mean, it's never good to kill or steal either or so I'm told, but y' get my drift, eh?"

[Heart]

The man is sitting on his butt with he knees curled up, back against the wall and leaning against the bars.

"I..." He sounds regretful. "Been searching for work for weeks and nothin' was coming. Never was much of a hunter. And my dog, Jerod, he was getting hungry. Ain't enough rats in this town for him to go chasin'," the man puts his head between his legs for a moment, then looks up a sighs. "I just wanted to feed my dog, now I might not see 'em again."

[ElfiKay]

Isidora Mikhail

Isidora stands casually at the front of her cell, gingerly feeling at the lock that currently held her, wondering which pick to use and when. Timing is everything in these matters. No point in slipping out if you're just going to get thrown back in. As the door to the prison protested its use, she relaxed her hand, letting her arm dangle outside the bars. A chained man walks past with a guard, and is taken to one of the cells out of Isidora's vision. She listens as her fellow jailbirds give their versions of greeting and the new man replies. Among them, the voice of the girl at the end of the aisle pipes up, requesting a book. For not the first time, Isidora wonders if she even realizes that she is in jail. Then, the new man replies to the boisterous inquiries of the halfling in the adjacent cell, and Isidora's heart melts a bit.

"Oh, poor thing..." she murmurs, speaking partly of the dog, and partly of the man. She hesitates, wondering if it would be better to give the man hope through empty assurances, or simply to remain quiet...

[Linguz]

Thomas pushed himself up out of the bed as he heard the doors of the prison open. He watched the man go all the way to his cell from the corner. After the guards left, he got out of the bed and went to sit by the bars. "If you're in here for petty thievery, you should be out soon enough. Maybe you can ask one of the guards to take care of your dog while you're in here."

[Machuchang]

"Yeah, mate," Abaddon said, agreeing with the hefty man across the way. "They've got bigger fish t' fry. M'self for example," He grinned wryly. "Y' ain't here under conspiracy to summon the unholy. But at least they don't seem t' be takin' th' charges too seriously. Otherwise I might be wit' that half-orc over there. No offense, by th' way." He added quickly, addressing the half-orc.

"Anyways, a dog?" He returned his attention to the newest prisoner. "Tha's awful cute. Wot type of dog y'got, eh?"

[Medic!]

Eric the Red

The burly half-orc is sitting as close to the bars of his cell as he can get when the new one's brought in. [COLOR="DeepSkyBlue]Another new one...so many have come through in the last week. At least one of them has a pretty singing voice, and knows the lullaby Mother used to sing to me...[/COLOR] A tear rolls down one side of his face, unbidden. Pleasant memories and bitter realities intruding yet again.

He stretches one finger out to scratch the jail's dog's muzzle. A good dog, but dumb as a box of rocks...Might as well give up, he'll never learn to fetch those keys before they come to hang me.

That last thought, instead of bringing more sadness, illicits one helpless laugh, which in turn scares the dog off, running back down the hall to the warden's office.

Hearing the newcomer speak of his dog, Eric does something that he hasn't done once the entire week he'd been in here. He spoke to another person. "I'd offer to care for your dog, but I don't think it's likely I'll be in a condition to do so, friend."

[hoverfrog]

"I love dogs," Mink suddenly announced, "So loyal. They say that they are man's best friend."

"What's your dog's name?" she's just been told but the vagueness was important to maintain, "You said, didn't you? Jerod? It is better that Jerod is free even if he's hungry." A short pause and then test them. "A raven visits me sometimes. I'd love to be as free as a bird. Shall we leave? We could just go. Who could stop us?"

[Machuchang]

"Well, th' authorities, f'r one," Abaddon said dryly. "We all would like t' be free, I assume. But tha's old news," He tried to get a better view of the half-orc.

"You 'aven't spoken f'r an awful long time, 'f I recall correctly. Y' like dogs? I like dogs too. We should start a club."

[GnomeGninjas]

Vlamad Horkenson
A fairly unremarkable looking dwarf watches everyone glumly. His only distingushing characteristic seem to be tatoos on his left forarm, hands and feet. The tatoos appear to be dwarven runes though those who know dwarven know that they aren't. Suddenly he speaks I don't like dogs. Then he goes back to looking at everyone glumly.

Vlamad isn't surprised that no one had been paying much attention to him. He was used to that. He decide to claim that he dislikes dogs because it would make people pay attention to him and it wouldn't require him doing anything silly.

[Medic!]

Eric

With a snicker, Eric responds to both at the same time, "I got a knack with critters, always have. We get along well. Dog's better than a dwarf any day. Especially a criminal dwarf."

Feeling talkative now, the half-orc calls down towards the other cells, "Who is it that's been singing? And where did you learn that song? It's...beautiful."

[Machuchang]

Abaddon snickered at the half-orc's jibe.

"Well put, friend!" Abaddon said. "Critters're good. I like critters. It's prob'ly that being possessed by a spirit of the woodlands thing. But we shouldn't be too hard on ol' grumpy-beard over there. 's not 'is fault 'e's at th' right 'eight t' be pissed on by a dog. I would know," The halfling grinned cheekily.

[GnomeGninjas]

Well, your at the hight to be pissed on by a cat. So there! The grumpy dwarf retorts before going back to staring at his feet. After a pause he boldy proclaims I have an owl. he seems to think that this settles the matter though it is hard to tell what matter he beleives to be settling with that statement.

A few thoughts enter Vlamad's mind: Why is a halfling making short jokes? How'd he get a spirit of the woodlands thing? If they are good with critters and I have an owl then they better me impressed.

[Medic!]

Eric the Quick-Quipper

Eric shifts his position, the sound of chains rattling echo off the walls and floor. "An owl eh? I don't give a "hoot" about your owl, unless it can fly me out of the hangman's noose."

Feeling the weight of his circumstance press down ever harder on him, Eric begins thrashing against his chains in a futile tantrum before flopping down, breathing hard on the floor.

[Machuchang]

The little halfling burst out laughing.

"Y' know it, Grumpy-beard!" Abaddon said, a huge grin plastered to his face. "I can't tell y' 'ow many times I've been pissed on by cats! But any'ow, y' got an owl, eh? Tha's nice. I've always like owls, and so far, they've tended t' keep their bodily functions far away from me, which I appreciate greatly."

He laughed again at the half-orc's pun, before falling into a stunned silence at his thrashing.

"Y' okay, mate?" He asked, the mirth gone from his voice. "Well, I suppose not, wot wit' y' bein' on death row an' all. Wot'd y' do, anyways, if y' don' mind my askin'?"

[Medic!]

Eric

"Self defense...was just...protecting...myself." he huffs out between labored breaths. His voice has taken on a sad note of self-loathing...or maybe just disappointment at his fate.

He catches his breath and climbs back to his feet, giving his chains a good pull as protest to his sentence, straining for all he's worth, not really caring if he breaks the chains, bends the brackets bolting them to the walls and floor, or rips the flesh from his arm. He just struggles for struggle's sake.

Spoiler

Show

Strength Check - (1d20+4)[12]

[Machuchang]

"Oh 'ell, mate! Y'r gonna 'urt y'self!" Abaddon shouted at the orc. "I feel f'r y', I really do! But wot's this gonna solve, eh?"

[Medic!]

Eric

Pain enters Eric's voice as he fights to hold back tears...not of pain, but of despair, "It hardly matters, friend. They're going to kill me. THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME! ALL I DID WAS PROTECT MYSELF! And they're going to kill me for it... the last bit is little more than a whimper.

[Machuchang]

Abaddon sat in silence for a little while, before speaking up once again.

"Wot's y'r name, mate? Not sure 'f I ever caught it."

[Medic!]

Eric

"Eric. My name is Eric. My mother and I live outside town, near the woods. Well, she does...I don't think I'll be laying claim to that for much longer."

[Machuchang]

"Don't talk like tha', man," Abaddon said quietly.

[ElfiKay]

Isidora watches the half-orc in the cell opposite her, and listens to the conversation surrounding her while she concentrated again on the lock.

The heart the other inmates seem to have reenergizes her normally optimistic spirit, and she finally speaks up at the half-orc's words.

"Eric, don't give up, I'm sure you'll see your mother again." She winks, adding. "And I don't mean that to be purely comforting, either. Let's get out of here so that you can see her; and you, new sir at the end, can see Jerod; and you, dwarf, your owl." A gleam comes into her eye, and she giggles, "Why, I'm sure we can even find some manner of creature to give our lively friend here a golden shower." Giving an elegant stage bow to Eric, chained across from her, It's a pleasure to meet you, Eric, and all the rest of you. I am Isidora Mikhail, but you can call me Isi or Isa if you'd prefer."

[GnomeGninjas]

Vlamad Horkenson
Vlamad watches silently trying to think of a good retort. He realizes that he shouldn't make anyone to angry because if they escape he would want to be on relativly freindly terms with his co-escapees. Suddenly he comes up with a plan. Gaurds! Guards! Can I have some help?

[Pietato]

"If we're all done insulting each other and sharing our life's stories, I believe someone in here is, at least for the moment, a friend of the Lowtide family." Willem waits for things to die down before he speaks up, the inexplicably well-dressed halfling having been seated silently on his mattress this whole time. "I assume they gave you a few different things."

[Medic!]

Eric

Softly, Eric warns his new jail-mate, "Careful, lad...last time I tried callin for a guard all I got for my trouble was a quick bath in the contents of the warden's chamber-pot...

[GnomeGninjas]

Vlamad ignores Eric, though it is clear that Vlamad heard him.

[Heart]

"Jer- Jerod. Yeah, that's his name. Thanks for all the encouragement. Maybe I can speak to someone about him in the morn'." The man looks toward the window in his cell, a strand of moonlight shines through across his face, revealing a single tear.

"Lowtide?" Jor stands up and wraps his hands around the bars. "That's a dangerous name to be speaking friend. Wh' a yu?"

After Jor's statement, the dog, laying adjacent to Eric with his head in his paws, slightly raises up with a muffled, "Ruff."

Everyone hears the loud cranking of gears as the dungeon door swings upon, followed by the familiar echo of boots against stone. In walks the guard from before, rubbing his eyes and lost of his armour, but the sword and sap still rest on his hip. He now wears a simple white vest, opened to reveal his chest, and a brown pair of baggy pants. Anyone who's been here long enough knows his name, Beran.

"Eric," he says very quietly after stopping at his cell, obviously tired, "is that you ruffling your chains? I'm tryin' ta sleep, earlier shift next mornin. Tryna refrain please." Then he looks up, searching through out the dungeon. "Someone callin' for a guard?"

[Linguz]

Thomas pointed at the cell which held Vlamad, the cell which called for the help. "He did."