Escape from Ironheart (IC)

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor was left unphased by the vampire's threat. He knew this was what they did, threaten people. She was just a common vampire, nothing to brag about really, but pride and arrogance flowed through their blood. He was sure that whatever made vampires tick would prove to be a genetic factor, not a magical one. Magic rarely transmitted personality traits and the necessity for the transfusion of blood during the siring process of the common vampire also indicated no magic was involved, rather some sort of virus that resided in the vampire bloodstream. A sample would prove extremely usefull.
Victor tilts his head, only now noticing the strangeness of the girl.
"Oh, quite the assembly we are indeed... Say, dragonman, where did you find her?"

Victor takes another bite of the lump of meat he's holding. Even while eating he continues talking, Victor simply had too much to say.
"Scrunch- You still haven't answered -Scrunch- if you have seen any corpses around -Munch- or chemicals -Lick- medical equipment perhaps? I could really -Munch- use some medical equipment. This -Chew- needle and thread won't cut it, I'm afraid"

Whether they had or had not seen any of the stuff, Victor started examining the room, vaguely hoping to find something of any use.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber paused for a moment at Mellita's words. He briefly considered, then shook his head somewhat regretfully in an equally quiet voice I'm afraid that would be unwise at this juncture... our compatriot has expressed a very definite sentiment against that course of action, and I do not relish conflict with him... or even trying to escape without his aid, having seen how proficient and capable he is... no, I'm afraid the lesser sustenance will have to do for now... I am sorry about this, Mellita, and I will do my best to see that your perseverance is rewarded later. Take whatever you need for yourself, I find myself still sustained by our comrade's gift.

After this discourse, Umber, hearing Cassandra's cry, moved over to her. He bowed, saying in soft voice Forgive me, madame, for not seeing to this at once... how very rude of me to leave a lady bound against her will. He chuckled a little, as if at some private joke even as he examined the chains... if they were mere iron, he fancied he might be able to break them, particularly with the draconic strength infusing him... He took the chains carefully in his hand, then looked around for a loose rock.. finding one, he hefted it, smashing carefully at the iron links, always making sure he avoided the lady's hands, then, taking a firm grip on either end, twisted until the middle link snapped.

That should take care of it, I think... again, My apologies for not seeing to it earlier. He gave her a smile and another half-bow.

So, Victor, was it? you're a student of the alchemical arts... particularly those pertaining to biology, if I'm not mistaken? The alchemical arts is one of my interests as well He chuckled a little Of course one of the advantages of a lifespan measured in the millenia is that you get to try a little bit of everything.

[MrEdwardNigma]

"It's a lifespan like that which could very well help me in my research, vampire. I do apologise for having to call you vampire, but I don't believe we've been introduced properly. And yes, I am Victor. Victor von Ravenstein the Third. It's a very ancient aristocratic family, you might have heard of it"

Victor pauzed and took a long look at Cassandra.
"Thanks for freeing her. She'll prove more usefull this way. I would prefer if you would get too close to her though. I'm not a man that makes many demands, kill any of the children you like, seduce the vampire chick for all I care, but I have... plans for Cassandra"

"As for the eternal life bit, I understand you must be asked this all the time, but my request is different. I do not wish power, my interest is purely scientifical. Since you know something of the art of alchemy you must have heard of it's three basic goals: the homonculus, eternal life and transmutation of one material to another, most commonly lead to gold, but only for finacial interests. Now I have already accomplished one of these age-old goals, and have come very near to eternal life, but to be able to resolve all three queries in my lifetime I will likely need even more time. Time that you could give me. Not to mention the huge leaps my research would make could I understand the true nature of vampirism. Don't misunderstand me, I know plenty about it already, more than you in a way, quite likely. It is, however, a full understanding that science strives for"

[Pwenet]

Akor

Working on the meat, Akor sighs contently. The body he now wears was starved, tortured and abused for long human years, waiting for the soul behind it to break, to give in. The original plan was a feast once the soul broke, not to be running around the pits of the prison attempting to gain his freedom. Not caring about the pieces he chooses the ones that the humans shy away from, feasting on them raw.

”It is amazing what cravings a body -Munch- will have when you first -Crunch- take over a -Slurp- body and start -Chew- rebuilding it.”

Hearing the child calling for his “Magic Trick” Akor turns and sees that Umber is already hard at work.

”That’s okay little one, let Uncle Umber play his magic trick. There will be another time.”

Working on the meat, Akor groans slightly as he feels his body twitch. Frowning slightly he turns towards Victor.

”Supplies have been few and far between and thus I have not seen any chemicals nor medical supplies. Corpses are few and far between for they burn nicely, and others taste better.”

Another spasm, and Akor doubles over in pain groaning out loud.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor's attention turned to Akor again.
"Spasms? Interesting! A struggle with the host body's immune system perhaps? A battle of the wills? Perhaps, and this is a long shot, the meat was contaminated. You're the only one that ate it raw..."

"If only I had my medical supplies and chemicals, you know. I could easily brew you something to ease the pain. I could probably manage to supress the host spirit too. I could even paralyze his immune system, but that would leave you vulnerable as well... Oh well, it's all irrelevant anyways, as long as I don't have my gear"

Victor lost interest in the halfdragon and sat down next to the girl who moved so strangely.
"Hello there. My name is Victor. I'm a doctor. Is there anything that's bothering you or the children?"

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber nods at Akor's unspoken request, going to work on the children's chains, his untiring undead physiology making short work of mere ironmongery. As he speaks, he carries on conversation.

Again forgive my rudeness... this is Mellita, a friend and valuable ally... And frankly, I have more names than I can count, and I no longer use the one I was born with for various reasons... at this particular juncture, I go by Umber. He smiled briefly at Victor's lecture on the nature of alchemyWell... Since I suppose we'll be helping each other escape, and I haven't had a scholarly conversation in far too long, I'll share with you some of the basics.

He grunted in satisfaction as a particularly difficult chain finally broke, then continued. To begin with, I should give a more full introduction of myself. I'm not sure if you've heard the old legend or not, about the seven Lord of Blood. There are numerous whimsical fantasies floating around about us - commonly we're referred to as the creators of all undead, lost gods, demons of the ancient world... that sort of thing. But, in fact, what we were were seven sorceror-kings from man's predawn. We were among the first mortals to gain true understanding of magic and the inner workings of the universe through it - Myself and my colleagues complied any number of seminal works which have filtered down through the ages in various forms.

In any case, we had one great goal in common which, in fact, was the source of our league - we all feared death. Having gained great power in the realm of the living, we desired not at all to let it all slip away in the cold hand of death. We used every method available to extend our lives, but we knew that sooner or later we would all cross the black river. We tried everything - everything, that is, short of selling our souls or something equally stupid. Those sorts of bargains never work. Besides, we were proud, and we refused to barter with higher powers for our eternal life - no, we desired to wrench it from Death's cold grasp Umber gave a dark chuckle, his eyes aglow as he continued to work.

Ah, but we were proud. Eventually, we hit upon a recipe that did it. Part of our pact was an oath of secrecy - I will not and can not reveal how we created the Elixir of Blood, our font of eternal youth - but I can tell you that it was no amount of rare ingredients that finally made it work, though those were certainly essential to its genesis... no, it was the first rule any practicioner of any art, magical or mundane should remember... sacrifice. A price. Something for something and nothing for nothing. To make it work... we each had to give up something precious. That was what gave the elixir its potency.

Umber chuckled And honestly, it wouldn't matter if I gave you the formula anyway. Half the ingredients are extinct on this plane of existence, and the other half so rare as for it to be virtually the same. But it worked, didn't it? Oh yes, it worked. Our condition was - is - superior to both mortal and the standard vampiric condition. Sunlight does not destroy us. We're stronger. We know hot to tap the true potence of blood, and harvest the souls of our foe... and each of us had our particular specialties. And, of course, there's none of the eventual withering you get with the imperfect forms - after a thousand years or so, they tend to get rather unseemly looking, except after ingesting huge amounts of blood.... and even then they quickly shrivel again. He smiled There are other advantages, of course, but I should mention one last thing of primary importance... I'm not sure that your science will ever be able to understand fully my peculiar condition. Because the key in becoming what I am was not a kiss forced or even gifted to me, not some blood born disease - it was a condition created by magic, and moreover, my own will and willingness to pay the price... as I put it at one point, I paid the ferryman without riding his black barge.

Suddenly, Akor's groan interrupted his reverie, and Umber rushed over. What is the matter, My friend?

[Pwenet]

Akor

Listening to Victor Akor starts laughing through the pain. Part of it feel familiar, slipping into the madness, the red haze of pain and wrapping it around himself the flames of a lair. His eyes look up at Victor as he doubles over.

”Birth is pain. Life is pain. Death is pain. Why would rebirth be any different?”

Gritting his teeth he bites down as another violent spasm rips through his body, and his shoulders flex and start swelling. Falling to his knees he swipes away anyone who might come close, and his shoulders swell even more and the skin starts to tear.

Roaring in pain his shoulders explode in a gore filled mess, and what unfolds are two perfectly proportional leathery dragon wings, dripping with blood and flesh. Shuddering and panting from the exertion Akor picks himself off the ground, his wings flapping slightly.

”Another step is complete.”

Looking up towards the iron chandeliers he smiles and his wings beat, sending blood flying. He leaps, and his wings flap, and he flies up towards the chandeliers. Grabbing hold of a study one he rests and looks down at the others. Laughing he leaps from it and glides to the ground, landing lightly on his feet.

”How I miss the feel of flight. It has been far to many centuries.”

Walking over to the remains of the pig meat that was untouched by the humans he grabs a section an d starts working on it.

”The raw material is here, my strength is being restored, and this shell is becoming mine with every moment that passes.”

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber grins, surreptitiously licking off a droplet of blood that had fallen onto his hand. He relished the peppery flavor, a reminder of the earlier gift he had been granted. He smiled with genuine relief... As he had told Mellita, the dragon's strength was a vital asset that would help them immeasurably in their escape. Ah... glorious. And once we're out of this dismal hellhole, you'll be able to give them a proper stretch.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor's expression had changed early in Umber's speech.
Sorcerors? Oaths? Sacrifices? Magic???

"You're saying you took the easy road and had you life lenghtened by means of magic?"
Victor's face twisted, as if he found the mere idea revolting.
"Anyone could have immoratality by means of magic, Umber. I could have long ago, should I have wanted to. It's science where my interest lays, not the vulgarity of the arcane! Even other vampires are less common than that!"
Victor looked desperate. He had sincerely hoped the key to Umber's vampirism had to be found in his blood, but this fellow was not even a real vampire. he was something else entirely. A sorceror who was afraid of death. Death was a natural, scientific matter and it did not scare Victor in the slightest. He simply wished to be able to finish his work before the inevitable end came. Victor was dissapointed in the vampire,a nd now he was clutching at straws.

"Regardless, I'll investigate a sample of your blood. i assure you, it won't yield the secret to the formula, nor would I be interested, since it concerns sorcery. An actual study of an immortal, no matter how he achieved his immortality, would be interesting though. But now I'll definitely need to return to the library..."

Victor picked up a bit of charcoal and started drawing on the walls eagerly.
"We'll need to head out soon, they'll be looking for us escapies, and this is what seems to be the most reasonable route of escape to me"
Victor indicated a room on his drawing with a large cross in it.
"This is where we are now. I came from upstairs, which is already a step in the right direction: up. The reason for my retreat are the many black cloaks running around there. I don't know if you've already met them but they're a sort of parasite infected human corpses with humongous strength and incredible speed. And four arms"
Victor points out a detailed anatomical sketch he made of the cultists, explaining his newfound compaignions where their weak points lay.

"There's a library up through the hallway, about here. This whole drawing is in scale, by the way, so the distances should be easy to estimate. I need the books in that room. I need to be able to study them for a bit. As you can see I have one of the books with me and taking them all will be impossible, so I'll have to study them there. The good thing about that location is that it has an easily defendable door and only cultist wander those levels. It seems to be their exclusive property and no guards or others will interfere as we visit that level of the dungeon"

"From that point we can head even futher up, I know the way as far as up to level three. The rest of the dungeon should be more linear and easier to navigate, so I'm sure that as soon as we get up there all we'll have to worry about are the guards. It's a long shot, but it's the only good one we have"

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber coolly arched an eyebrow at Victor's response to his explanation. Standing up, he gave a chuckle and shook his head at Victory If that's your response, then I'm not sure you understand the true nature of magic... magic is not merely some mystic force that creates something from nothing... it is energy, it is raw potential. Magic, as it were, is life. It has rules, just as what you call science does. Indeed, it is both a science and an art... but it can be controlled. It can be used, as long as, like any form of power, it is used with proper respect. Magic is not some "easy" path to power... it requires discipline, patience, cunning, innovation. It's not like any cretin can pick up a book of spells and become a master sorceror... it takes years of dedication, practice, refinement of the craft.

Umber slowed his speech, calmed himself. No. Not anyone could have what I took by means of magic. If they could, don't you think there would be more than seven Lords of Blood, that the formula would have been rediscovered by now? It took over fifty years of research by the seven greatest and most accomplished spellweavers to do what we did. We bargained with death as equals. We EARNED our immortality. Simply because we chose another path than you did does not make use weaker, or inferior to a path you might take. After all, I might say that any fool can cut bits off corpses and sew them onto himself... and yet I do not. I do not criticize your path when I have not walked it, when I have not faced the challenges it presented.. A lesson you might do well to learn.

With a shrug, Umber seemed to dismiss the issue, nodding carefully... he flashed a look to Milleta, however, arching an eyebrow, as if in askance. I am not sure if that is the quickest way out of here...

[Pwenet]

Akor

Hearing Umber comment Akor allows himself a full smile, his features shifting slightly as his body continues on rebuilding itself.

”It will be nice to feel the sun upon these wings once again. But first escape must come.”

Turning to listen towards Victor talk about escape, Akor frowns. Something is wrong in his body. Not the “1” on his arm that will never go away, he likes it now in many ways. It was something else, something from the days of old, when he was a simple ghost in a shell with the old prisoner controlling the body.

The Gem!

Closing his eyes he thinks back, and recalls that Victor introduced him as a doctor. Looking him over, Akor notices he is different from other humans. Besides the stitches, his hands look sharper, claws almost in some respects. This might work.

”Gentlemen, there is a problem. We are likely being tracked as we speak.”

Running a hand to point at the back of his skull, moving a wing away, he rubs the section.

”This shell was not mine originally. I am the last of my race and I aim to spit in the eye of the end and struggle against it. There are some that say there are seasons, seasons for life, and seasons for death. We dragons were born outside of the seasons, and that was our birthright. Yet some killed the dragons, and the others started to die. Imagine if you will a race of beings, ancient, powerful, being struck down by something we do not understand, something we fought against. Thirteen dragons sacrificed themselves to aid my hatching and I was the last one to hatch alive.”

Sighing Akor lowers his arms and picks up the Warhammer from where he left it.

”As the last it is my responsibility to struggle, to fight against the end. Yet the season of death came around to me. I had a cult of weak humans, and I used them to arrive here, for there was an escape. A rebirth. Yet there are rules of reality that transcend “magic” and “science”. A soul pure as winter snow, uncorrupted that did not want power that would sacrifice itself willingly to me. That person is whose body I now wear and repair, for he finally gave up the long struggles.”

”The method used to have that soul give in was torture. Decades upon decades of it. I aided in it, tempting him with power, freedom, yet he struggled cause he could not understand my true nature. He gave in slightly at times, tearing through the halls raining blood and destruction. Precautions were taken, including a gem of magic implanted into the base of his skull, designed to allow those that know of it to track it, and possible stun me into the dark sleep.”

Turning to look at Victor Akor smiles a sick smile.

”If you are a student of sciences that you claim you are, I need you to remove that gem from my skull.”

[MrEdwardNigma]

Victor ignored the vampire's speech. He knew vampires were porud and stubborn and could not be swayed. Instead he stared at cassandra for a bit, and then at the strange girl. He still couldn't put his finger on what she was...

When Akor asked him to remove a gem from his skull, Victor smiled broadly and replied "Gladly"
He'd prefer to borrow a dagger from someone, but if not available he will simply cut into the dragon's skull with his nails. He knew where to cut not to hurt the creature, and his accupressure techniques made sure the creature wouldn't feel a thing. Victor's nails sliced across the dragon's skin, and then they slowly delved in. Not in the destructive way they had treated the cultists earlier, but with care, moving every bit of flesh until the hand got to the gem, pulling it out.

Victor stared at the thing in his hand, as his other hand started sewing up the dragon mechanically.
"There, all better"

[Lonna]

Pyrene

Despite the gravity of her situation, Pyrene was fascinated by the rune-covered pair visible in the odd crystal, particularly when she realized that they apparently spoke through the Judge. Then reality reasserted itself on her awareness, and she realized that she was about be gagged again. Looking back at the mobile body, she thought fast.

If I give him (her?) a message to relay to my next captors, will it reduce the amount of time I have to try and escape? Not to mention if I can't manage to keep that gag out of my mouth I lose the only edge I have right now.

"My... Lady? The fact that I am being released from the Prism is, I think, enough to speak for me. Regardless of what I might say, I still killed a man and will still be treated as such. However, if I may, I have a personal question. Who were you? I mean, before you became the guardian here?" She was only stalling and she knew it, but if it might distract the Judge enough to forget to re-gag her, it was worth a try. If and when he/she did put the gag back in, Pyrene decided, she would appear to cooperrate so that she could try to get a little extra slack in the binding... anything that might allow her to get the gag out, or at least speak more clearly with it in.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

The additional power will allow me to do anything I want. I saw the world, and there was a lot of it I did not like...a lot of it that needed...adjustments. And I did not *lose* my body. I *shed* it, in favor of a more powerful, less restricted form. And I'll never stop, because then the other people searching for power will surpass and destroy me. It's a horrible cycle, I know, but I have little choice but to either *DIE* or go along for the ride... Sohssal explained to the other tenant in the body.

Sohssal hovered in place for a few moments, wracking his mind, trying to think of a way out of the situation, but to no avail. I'd prefer to proceed violently, actually, but that definitely wouldn't work in this situation... he responded mentally to Omega, frustration flooding his thoughts. Then he flew over to the bookshelves and began looking over them, pulling out some of them and looking at where they were. "Bit of an odd place to put it. but I guess it hides it well enough," he commented while searching for the Donovale. After his search, he floated back near the center of the room and looked over it again, trying to see if there were any differences between the normal room and this one.

"I'm familiar with magic, myself, as you probably know from my flying and levitating rocks. But...are we stuck in a room outside of time? If so...where'd your creator get all the magical energy to do it?!" Sohssal inquired. The path of the rocks around him became erratic as he struggled to keep calm in the face of this devious puzzle.

[Baerdog7]

Ander Windrivver

Ander descends swiftly upon the shocked cultist, dropping onto one knee in the middle of his chest. The cultist coughs and sputters while he tries to regain his wind, but it is enough time for Ander to grab the lantern out of his hands and put it on the floor next to them.

Mercy is wasted on those who are beyond redemption Ander growls, wrapping his hands around the acolyte's throat. And there is none for you. Now tell me where Crane is and I may just kill you quickly.

[Burrito]

(OOC, well that last DM kinda snuck up on me. Sorry I missed it.)

Askov

Even though I hadn’t slept last night, I was still wide awake. My body seemed to pulse with an undercurrent of excitement, apprehension, and dare I say it, hope? Luckily I was the first one chained up today, so I was able to see the locations of the five others hooked up with me today. The guards must have been in a hurry today, because everyone they grabbed was from this section of cell block/hallway. The furthest was only ten cells down. Although looked to be more likely than others, I was going to hedge my best and give all of them one of the boot nails.
The first one (Sevi) was easy, as he was the closest. I had been chained with him several times now, but hadn’t learned much from him other than his name. I was able to pass the nail in the initial jostle of grabbing up tools for the day. No communication between us other than an intense stare from me and a quick tug on his burlap as I stuck the nail into the fabric. One done, four to go I did not know the names of the next three, other than physical descriptions. I simply called them One-ear, Shorty and Tattoos. They were numbers 3, 4 and 5 respectively in the chain line. Number 6 was Hans. Hans was someone who was not destined to live long here in Ironheart. We all knew it, yet none of us would really do anything about it. Hans was fighting his own battle against Ironheart, and the guards here. Anytime any of them refered to him as worm, mole, dirt, or even # 258434, he would look at them and say “My name is Hans.” He would only do it one time a day, but it would usually earn hi a severe beating. This was evidenced by his missing and broken teeth, his cloudy white right eye, and the dozens and dozens of bruises all over his body in various colors and stages of healing. By the looks of his freshly re-broken nose, it seemed he had already had is moment to shine today. For a moment I had an upwelling of pride, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. It almost felt uncomfortable. Pride for myself or for someone else, I wasn’t sure, but I took it as a sign from Athelion that I was on the right track and was making the right decision.
I was able to pass the second nail to One-ear when we had to bunch against the wall to make room for some of the Elite Guards. Nobody wanted to get in their way. I was able to quickly press the nail into One-ears hand and whisper ever so softly “A gift from the Light”. Sevi and One-ear were not stupid, (stupid did not last long here) and by now realized what I was doing. And with a glance or two, throughout the day, they were able to screen for me as I passed on the next two. I passed it to Shorty as two of the guards were taking leaks, and to Tattoos when a larger than expected amount of wall/ceiling came down and we had to use out hands to dig the big pieces out. The day was almost over, and that just left one more prisoner.
Hans.
By now there was an almost conspiratorial air to the chain gang. Although nobody said anything, eyes were brighter, and there wasn’t the usual shuffling drag to their steps at the end of the day. The guards though, seemed a bit preoccupied. We were not able to find out exactly what was going on, but there had been Elite unites moving about all day, and out guards had been doing a lot of whispering. Only hearing the occasional “running loose” and “lower levels”
I glanced at all of the four I had passed nails to, each in turn, making sure I made eye contact with them. I then looked at Hans.
“All right scum!” Bellowed one of the guards. “Pack it up, you’re going back to your mansions!” The other guards laughed at this display of wit. I turned around and started back up the tunnel, the chain gang moving like a snake turning back on itself. By the time I had pulled even with Hans, I heard the rattle of chains and loud cursing from the guards. “Back on your feet worms!” One-ear and Shorty were in a heap on the floor. Sevi and Tattoos were standing over them, attempting to help, but in actuality they were getting in the way of the guard sand confusing the situation even further. I leaned over to Hans and whispered quickly to him “Your name is Hans. My name is Askov. Take this, and Light of Athelion be with you.” He looked at his hand and back up at me, and for a brief moment grinned through his ruin of a face. This took all of about 3-4 seconds, but by that time we heard the CRACK of a whip and a few grunts from the other prisoners.
That is all it took for the rest of the chain gang to get untangled and back up into order. The guards were watching us all closely now, but I was done. The seeds were planted, and tonight I would see if anything would grow from the.

(OOC Tonight I will creep out from my cell. As soon after each patrol check as I could. I will go to each of their cells and see if any of them can pick the locks on my wrist and leg irons. Either they can or they can’t. I can’t waste a lot of time at each cell. I will have between 40 minutes to an hour between each patrol. Either way, after 30 minutes I will sneak back to my cell, and wait for the next guard pass, before I go out to try again. If that works, I will give the wooden shank and the metal grate as payment to whoever gets me out. Then, this is what I will do, if it doesn’t work I will come up with something else.) :P

Askov again…

Free Once I was back in my cell, I took a few minutes to stretch out my arm and legs. Reveling in the freedom of movement they now had. Now, back to work. Using one of the nails, I started to cut the skin around the shoulder of the dead guards right hand. He had been dead for a day and laying on his left side, so there was almost no blood to deal with. Once the cut had been made, from under his armpit, up and around over his color bone, down the middle of his shoulder blade to meet up with the start of the cut under his armpit, I began to peal the skin down. Having sat a day, the skin pealed fairly easily, except there were chunks of congealed fat and thin layers of muscle still attached to it. I didn’t care, I wasn’t making fine leather. Once I got down to the end of the wrist, I used the nail again to perforate a line all the way around and cut the skin and neatly as I could. The skin was inside out at this point, so I cleaned off the bits of fat and muscle as best I could, but I was pressed for time, so I didn’t work too long at it. I then turned it right side out, and slipped it over my right arm. It was a very odd sensation at the least, to have a cold wet skin of arm over my own, but the ID number was now covered. I then dressed in the guards clothing. Not a perfect fit, but compared to what I had been wearing, it felt like the finest silken garments. With the top seam under the tunic and chain shirt, the only seam that could been seen was the one at the wrist. You would miss it with a casual glance, and hoping that since the ID number was clearly NOT obvious, a casual glance is all that my arm would get. Now for a false trail… I quickly began to cut and pull off random large pieces of skin from the guard. Including his face. I didn’t want him recognized right away, and I didn’t want them to suspect my arm trick right away either. These pieces I shoved down the toilet, pushing them as far down as I could with the club. Past the point of being reached with a hand.. I re-secured the manacles and leg-irons on the half skinned corpse, after I dressed it in my old burlap outfit. I locked the cell behind me, and started off. I had to find a quiet place to get some sleep, and then I would need some food. Those were my two pressing needs now. That, and not getting caught and killed…..

[Dorizzit]

Korram deliberates for a second, seemingly in the midst of an internal struggle. Nevertheless, holds up a hand. "Seraph, wait. Before we go on, I have to ask you: who are you? Several people seem to have recognized you, and you fight better than almost any man I have ever seen. So once more, I ask you: who are you?"

[The_Snark]

Mar

She would have answered him—not that her name mattered very much, she was just Mar after all—but another voice interrupted her. A harsh voice, an angry voice, a voice that probably belonged to somebody who was thinking about hurting her. She jumped and dropped the shirt, scrambling to get off the floor. "Cleaning!" she said instantly, trying to explain what she was doing here. No, no, no, it wouldn't work, they knew she wasn't supposed to clean here, she was lying and being bad again!

She bent back down quickly to pick up the bucket, trying not to look away from the guards, then realizes the brush is lying a few feet away on the floor and darts to pick that up too as they approach. They knew she'd been scrubbing, not mopping! The man's shirt was still on the floor. Oh, they would know, even before they took her to see her daddy, they would know she'd spilled and lied and talked, and all the other things she'd done wrong here. Mar wanted to run, but her feet remained fastened steadfastly to the floor; the thought of what they would do to her if she was so horrible as to try to run from them made her want to scream even more than she already did. She couldn't scream yet, though. She had to wait until they actually started, and then she was supposed to.

[Adlan]

Garm
Sucking His hand, and spitting out silver slivers, Garm walked over to the many vials. His breath was deep, and always on the edge of a growl. He picked up a couple, a Stimulant, and one of the several healing potions (One of several because the Guards hadn't used a single one).

The Upper, Garm downed in one, grimmicing at the foul taste. But he felt his alertness increase, his tired system perked up once more, though, of course, the down would be that much worse.

A healing potion followed it, and although the effect wasn't instantanious, Garm did feel better.

With some of the other potions in one hand, he went over to the corpses of the guards. Checking if they were still alive. Ready to break their necks. He took a ring og keys from one of them, and walked over to Tare.

'I get you down' He smiled. And With the keys, began to try each one in the lock. When finally, one clicked, Tare fell down, and the wolfling caught him, with only half the chains undone., he tried to lower him as gently as he could, but it must have been uncomfortable to say the least.

Uncorking another of the Vials, he poured first healing potions and stimulants down Tares throat.
'We got to go soon'

With that, he crossed his legs, and squatted next to his friend. Working on the Silver 'Collar' around his neck he tried again, every key, till the final thing stopping him changing clicked open, and dropped away to the floor.

edit: DM and OverWilliam pointed out Tare was chained with chain, not ropes.

[Voth]

Voth

I agree with you this time. Voth thinks with disdain. Grabbing the sobbing figure and heaving her over his shoulder, Voth makes his way to the door and attempting to get out before whatever the crystal is doing, finishes.

[Inspectre]

Elsewhere . . .

Katashiko, the Mistress of Earth, was bored. No one ever came to visit her, even to taunt her as she thrashed wildly against her restraints. She struggled not so much in a vain attempt to free herself, for that was surely impossible; or as a release for the pain she felt, for her struggles only increased her pain tenfold, and she could endure even that much pain without compliant if necessary. No, she struggled because she was bored, and the pain remained her that she was still alive and not in whatever formless limbo awaited beyond death.

Alive, there was still the slim chance that one day she would be released, that her treacherous sisters who had put her here would have second thoughts. And then she would be free again, free to maim and kill, free to take her long overdue revenge. She often thought about how she would take her revenge: such thoughts were the only real way she kept herself entertained. But there was only a limited number of ways one could suffer without soon perishing, even for a Mistress of the Elements. And Katashiko wanted her sisters to suffer, and suffer, and suffer until their own memories were only of pain. It was the only suitable punishment for their betrayal and for locking her away in this place with no hope of escape.

Her once flawless skin was now marred, every inch subjected to sacred brands dedicated to the elements of Fire, Water, and Air. These brands severed her own connection to the Earth, leaving it only a feeble whisper in her mind. But her loss of connection did not eliminate her own innate abilities, and so her sisters had sought to neutralize those as well.

They had begun by dislocating her limbs, cruelly wrenching them all behind her back into a position that not even she could have achieved naturally. And then they had bound her limbs: wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and wrists to ankles. They had spared no expense, and so for this they used dragon sinew. When they were finished, her sisters had found they had plenty left, and so used the remainder in weaving a dense net around the rest of her body.

Afraid she would find some way to snap the strong, but thin, strands or would be simply crazy enough to slice herself apart in order to escape the net, Katashiko’s sisters had then added an additional layer of restraints.

Around her neck, wrists, ankles, forearms, shins, and thighs were bolted thick bands of adamantite, with short thick chains also made out of adamantite connecting them all together. A faceplate covering her face up to the bottom of her nose was also added, welded together with her collar.

Finally satisfied, Katashiko’s sisters had then locked her in an adamantite-lined cell in the darkest depths of Ironheart. They had inscribed Air runes into the adamantite, taking away even the slight connection to the Earth Katashiko still felt through her brands. And using several long adamantite chains attached to her bonds, they had suspended her ten feet into the air, separating her from even the reassuring touch of solid ground. Katashiko was utterly helpless, denied even the right to end her boredom by committing seppuku. And so she waited, and waited, and waited for something, anything, to happen that would relieve her boredom for awhile.

Today seemed to be the day that her wish would finally be granted, for her ears suddenly picked up far below her a sound she had only heard once before: the heavy adamantite pins holding the door to her cell sliding open. Snapping her eyes open, Katashiko could just barely make out from the bottom of her eyes the blurry outline of the door as it slowly swung open. Perhaps a dozen blurry figures entered her cell a moment later, a few quiet whispers of amazement reaching her ears as the figures looked up at her.

She considered putting on a show for them, these very first guests of hers. Perhaps she could twist about and rattle her chains a bit, shrieking madly through her faceplate at them. But before she could enact such a plan, a familiar voice from that crowd below spoke. Like the sound of the door opening, she had only heard that cold voice once before, but she still recognized it. It was the Warden himself, making this first instance of guests very special indeed.

“Hello Katashiko. I trust our accommodations are sufficient?”

For a moment, the dull ringing of Katashiko’s faceplate filled the chamber as she chuckled. “Oh yes, Warden. You certainly know how to keep a girl hanging around. But I must admit I’ve been a little bored. Surely you could spare one of your staff every now and then to come and torture me? I thought Ironheart was a place of endless suffering, not endless boredom.”

Now it was the Warden’s turn to chuckle coolly. “Believe me, were it not for your sisters’ strict instructions to leave you alone, boredom would be the least of your troubles.”

Now Katashiko knew this would be an interesting day. She had always suspected that her lack of visitors was yet another pathetic attempt by her sisters to preserve human life, for they feared what she could do even helpless. And yet they clung so spinelessly to their beliefs that they refused to take even hers, instead condemning her to a boring and “safe” stay in the most secure and brutal prison ever seen on the face of this world.

Her curiosity piqued, Katashiko now sought to discover the Warden’s reason for breaking his agreement with her sisters. “So if they did not want my, shall we say, private meditations disturbed, why are you risking their wrath by coming here?”

Although she couldn’t see it in the featureless blur of his face, Katashiko could hear the Warden’s smile. “Because in a very short while what they want won’t matter. Nothing will, for the power to control and shape the world will no longer rest in anyone’s hands but mine.”

“Oh, a plot to take over the world. How droll.”

“Do not mock this, you filthy wench. The ritual about to be completed here is far beyond any pathetic attempt to conquer the world. But right now, it is still vulnerable to . . . disruption. And I need to make sure none of the minor annoyances currently cropping up grow large enough to become such a disruption.”

Now Katashiko laughed in earnest, her faceplate giving her already cold laughter a hollow and metallic tone. “So I assume you want to release me, thinking that I’d be a good little slave and solve all of your problems for you. And then what? Once your precious little ritual is finished, it’s back into the cage for Katashiko, right?”

The slight movement of the Warden’s shoulders as he shrugged was barely visible, but Katashiko’s sharp eyes noticed it even through the blurring of the Warden’s figure. “No, and then you go free. Once the ritual is complete there’s no reason for this place to remain a prison. Those pieces of filth that survive but prove useless will be mercilessly executed, while those I have a use for will be released. I would probably even have the power to remove those brands your sisters burned into your skin.”

In spite of herself Katashiko was now very interested in what the Warden had to say. Even if it was all a lie, at least she would presumably be free as she pursued these minor “annoyances” the Warden had spoken of. And while free she would be able to prepare her own contingency plans should the Warden’s promises prove false.

“Alright then, I suppose your deal sounds fair. Who do I have to kill?”

**********************************************

Far below Katashiko’s cell, in the very darkest depths of Ironheart a group of Prophets of the Final Age work feverishly around a large iron casket. With loving care they work to assemble a body. Stalagmites covered in bloody mud are carefully lain out in the casket’s bottom, and slowly the rough shape of full skeleton begins to take shape as more and more stalagmites are brought in from the Prophets’ sacrificial altars. Soul crystals, glowing brightly from the energy of dozens of absorbed souls are set inside the skeleton to serve as organs. The skin, sewn together from flayed children, would be added last.

A ripple of glorious energy washes through the assembled acolytes, and all work immediately comes to a halt as their Hierarch appears from an oily pool that remains instead of dissipating, glistening and rippling behind the Hierarch as he steps forward.

Report.

Preparations for the Awakening are nearly complete. We should be ready to begin the ritual within the hour.

And the other Sacrifices?

We have already force-fed the necessary herbs to the girl. She should be entering labor shortly. We likewise are collecting or preparing the other necessary Sacrifices. However, we still do not have a source of divine blood.

I already have a source prepared. I shall go collect it and return in time for the beginning of the ritual of Awakening. Be sure preparations are complete by then.

Yes, Hierarch.

Without another word, the Hierarch turned and stepped back down into the puddle of oil, slowly sinking down into it until he was gone from sight. As the puddle slowly melted apart and flowed down into the stone floor, the feeling of rapture passed from the acolytes and they returned to their duties of assembling the body.

********************************************

Captain Delran smiled as the soft sound of far-off screaming reached his ears. He loved the Torture Chambers, and would spend all of his time here if his duties did not frequently require his presence elsewhere. For once, however, his pleasure and his duty were aligned.

Seeing him approach with his entourage of elite guards, the two elites supervising the organization of the riot squad stopped and saluted before returning to barking out orders at the cluster of normal guards before them. Efficient and focused, those were the two traits Delran looked for when selecting guards to elevate to elite status. A certain amount of inspiration in their cruelty also tended to help.

“Sir, preparations are nearly complete to go in and clear out the prisoner rabble. A majority of them appear to be holed up in one of the chambers – we should have no trouble barging into the room and restoring order swiftly.” The one elite reported, not even turning around to face Delran as he continued to gesture at the guards. Focused and efficient.

“Hmph. Excellent work. Try not to settle the matter too quickly though. It’s always more fun to give the scum a bit of hope before crushing it utterly.” Delran lectured, smiling evilly at the thought of giving personal lessons to the surviving prisoners before the Prophets completed their ritual.

“Sir.” The elite replied, preparing to follow the normal guards out as they began to file out of the room in a double column. Meanwhile, the second elite turned to face Delran.

“Sir, is it your intention to lead this detachment? I have something you might find more interesting than crushing a few weak prisoners.”

“Oh? What have you found, lieutenant?”

The elite bowed his head, not looking Delran in the eyes but his smile was still clearly visible. “A patrol of guards reported encountering Sir Seraphan near the entrance to the Private Torture Chambers. They not did engage him in combat, as he seemed to have a valid reason for being there at the time. However, the whole encounter seemed wrong to them, and so they reported it to me. Based on the time frame, it seems likely that he was the one responsible for the guard massacre on the stairway between the second and third floors of the Private Torture Chambers.”

“Seraphan.” Delran repeated, throwing his head back with a loud guffaw. “How apropos for him to be here. I imagine he wants his wife back.”

“I do not presume to know his motivations, sir. Merely that he is here. Also, there is something else you might find interesting.”

“Oh?”

“Follow me sir.” The elite said, raising his head and turning to walk out of the chamber. Intrigued, Delran and his entourage followed, entering a nearby chamber in which two guards each held down a kneeling pair of prisoners. Both prisoners were severely beaten, but Delran still recognized the one as a former Gast guardsman who had been foolish enough to not only spare a family of commoners behind on their taxes, but had held off his companions long enough for the family to escape into the wilderness.

“Hello, Robert. Still fighting the good fight for the wrong side, I see.” Delran said, smiling at the memory of slowly peeling strips of flesh off his back shortly after his arrival. After that session, sadly, Delran hadn’t been able to see him again – so many prisoners, so little time.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.” Robert grunted, groaning an instant later as one of the nearby guards booted him in the stomach.

“You will show Captain Delran the proper respect, curr!” The guard snarled, and pulled his boot back again, but sheepishly set his foot back down on the ground and moved away at an angry wave from Delran.

“Now now. If you kick him too hard, he might not be able to talk. And if he can’t talk, he can’t tell me whatever important information it is that he has.”

“Actually sir, neither of them have talked yet. They were both found by a patrol of guards near to where Seraphan was encountered. I thought it was highly likely that he released them for some reason.”

“Seraphan? Showing mercy to scum like this? Doesn’t sound like him to me.” Delran mused, beginning to wonder if this was perhaps a waste of time. Time he didn’t have if Seraphan was loose in Ironheart: there was no telling how much havoc that man could wreck if he so chose.

“Perhaps not, sir. But someone let them out of their cages. And it was far enough away from the prisoner riot and close enough to the Private Torture Chambers that I thought it significant.” The elite said, just the merest note of fear entering his voice as he started to wonder if he had wasted Captain Delran’s precious time as well.

“Well, let’s find out, shall we? Dogs, who let you out of your cages?” Delran asked the two prisoners.

Flashing a bloody smile, Robert was the only one to answer, as the other prisoner simply cowered slightly, shooting nervous looks over at Robert. “Your mother. I guess she just couldn’t get enough of my company.” Immediately the swarm of normal guards, and even a few elites from Delran’s entourage, moved forward to deliver a righteous beating to the wiseass prisoner. But then all stopped as a hand signal from Delran.

“My mother is dead, and I’ll not have you speak of her as such. Talk out of turn like that again and I’ll have your jaw broken.” Delran answered evenly, before turning to the other cowering prisoner. He wouldn’t get anything out of Robert, who was far too stubborn for his own good. This simpering nincompoop who had apparently been caged with him, however, was far more promising material.

“So, sonny. I don’t believe we’ve had the privilege of meeting before. Do you know who I am anyway?” Delran asked, earning a vigorous nod and a whimper from the broken man.

“Good. Then you know it’s in my power to reward as well as punish. I could see to it that you’re made into a collaborator. You’d still spend the rest of your days here, but there’d be no more whips, no more hot pokers, no more pain. All you need to do is tell me who let you out of your cell. Alternatively, if you don’t tell me by the time I count to three, my friend here will cut out your right eye.” Delran said.

The words were scarcely out of Delran’s mouth before one of the elites from his entourage immediately moved to kneel down in front of the man, drawing a dagger and holding it just far enough away from his face that the man could see his own reflection on the cold steel. Focused, efficient, and quick to carry out his orders: that’s what got a guard made into an elite.

“No, don’t!” Robert growled, but before he could speak another word a second elite from Delran’s bodyguard stepped forward. Standing over the kneeling Robert, the elite drew back a fist before driving it into the prisoner’s jaw; once, twice, three times. The third blow succeeded in dislocating Robert’s jaw, leaving it hanging loosely from the rest of his mouth as he began to drool blood.

Finished with his assignment, the elite looked back at Delran for further orders. Smiling, Delran shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll need Robert anymore. Finish it.” His smile growing to match his captain’s, the elite turned back to continue the fatal beating of Robert.

“Now then, as I was saying before your friend rudely interrupted. Tell me who set you free by the time I count to three, or lose an eye. One, two, thr –“

“Wait! Wait, I’ll talk! There were three of ‘em! Big tall guy, armed to the teeth, wanted to kill us both. Another man, h-his arm, it was all burnt to a crisp, and flames came shooting out of it like, like, like it was magic or something! And then there was some woman, blond hair, pretty face. I didn’t get any of their names, they didn’t give them to us! That’s all I know, I swear!”

“Korram. And Countess Ashargrin too.” Delran said, smiling openly as he fought the impulse to laugh again. This was going to be more fun than he thought.

“Alright, we’re going to need more guards down here. Lieutenant Wedge, you go rally the troops. Pull some of them off of prison staircase duty, wake up some of the sleepyheads in the Barracks, whatever. Get them here quickly. Lieutenant Biggs, you go up to Prisoner Processing: I think it’s time to hold a little family reunion.”

“Wait! What about me! I thought you said you were going to make me into a collaborator!” The prisoner whined from his position down on the floor, still nervously eying the knife that the disappointed elite guard was still loosely holding.

“Oh, I never said that I would make you into a collaborator, just that I could. Still, you’re right, you deserve some rewards for being so helpful. Leave him his eyes. Just take everything else.”

“Wa – UGH!” The prisoner screamed, his shout cutting off into a weak gasp as the elite plunges the knife into his stomach and disembowels the man. As the elite began to slowly remove the prisoner’s organs, one tiny piece at a time, Delran turned back to the rest of his entourage with another guffaw.

“Come on, let’s go. I wouldn’t want to miss this reunion for anything.”

The Spires: Ironheart Research

Voth

Although she winces a little at your touch, the girl doesn’t react to being slung across your shoulder and carried over to the door like a sack of food, except perhaps to cry a little more. Reaching the door, you quietly push it open and slip through into the stairway beyond again, memories of your painful and desperate entrance into this room earlier playing through your mind. Across from you, the iron doorway no longer has the remains of a guard propped up against it, although the bloodstains covering a large portion of the doorway are still there.

Suddenly, the sound of voices from below you comes echoing up, along with the loud tromping of many boots.

“I tell you brother, did you see the look on that scum’s face when I zapped him? It was hilarious!”

“Yes, yes, it certainly was Alphonse. Although if I had been a bit more careful in restraining him in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

“Pah, you worry too much brother. It just goes to show you that I was right all that time ago when I pushed for the construction of the Prism. Oh, I bet the Judge had a field day with that violent fellow. Do you suppose they’d give me a blow-by-blow account of his incarceration if I asked them?”

“Probably not. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if installing those two as our Judge wasn’t a mistake. That’s why I’ve been looking into separate restraining methods, so we no longer have to rely on a pair of crazy prisoners to police the other crazy inmates. It’s just asking for trouble if you ask me.”

The voices and sound of boots are clearly ascending towards you, although none of them appear to be in a particular hurry. No doubt they thought that you were still trapped in the Prism, locked in mortal combat with the Judge. Although this might be the perfect time to ambush them and take your revenge, the fact that you now had someone else to look after made you hesitate. As did the cauterized crossbow bolt wound in your thigh, and the fact that it sounded as if the Volesin Brothers had an entourage of guards with them.

From across the stairway, the bloodstained door leading back into the hallway that in turn lead over to the Key Spire. A temporary respite, at best, but at least you would be unlikely to fall under immediate attack unless the Volesins were heading over to the Key Storage Spire instead of back to their precious Prism. And that respite would give you time to calm down or at least quiet the sobbing girl slung across your shoulder.

The Prism

Lonna

Lowering his hand away from his face, the Judge seems to sneer irritably to match the expression on the man’s face.

IT IS IRRELEVANT WHO WE ARE.

But immediately the Judge grimaces, and raises his now-shaking hand back up to his forehead.

BUT NOT FORBIDDEN TO SPEAK OF IT. VERY FEW ARE EVER RELEASED FROM THE PRISM AND SO SEE OUR TRUE FACES. FEWER STILL EVEN CARE TO KNOW WHAT WE ARE.

Angrily, the Judge tears his hand away from his face.

IT IS IRRELEVANT WHO WE WERE. WE ARE NOW THE JUDGE, EXECUTOR OF IRONHEART’S WILL WITHIN THE PRISM. IS THAT NOT ENOUGH?

The Judge jabs his hand up against his temple, knocking his head to one side with the violence of the motion.

OH DO SHUT UP, BROTHER. THERE IS PLENTY OF TIME TO ANSWER A SIMPLE QUESTION. OR DO YOU FEAR TO REMEMBER WHAT WE HAVE LOST?

The Judge does not remove his hand from his head, and a moment later continues.

GOOD. NOW, PRISONER, ONCE WE WERE LIKE YOU. FREE TO DO AS WE WISHED, GO WHERE WE WISHED. WE WERE BORN AS TWINS, AND SO WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN CLOSE. PERHAPS NOT AS CLOSE AS WE ARE NOW, FORCED TO DIRECT A SINGLE BODY, BUT WE HAD SIMILAR GOALS AND SIMILAR THOUGHTS. WE EVER USED TO –

- FINISH EACH OTHER’S SENTENCES.

The Judge concluded after lowering his hand slowly away from his head.

WE SOUGHT TO BRING JUSTICE TO THOSE WITH NO SENSE OF DECENCY OR PROPRIETY. CLASS, RACE, OR PROVINCE BORDERS MATTERED NOT TO US. WHERE THERE WAS EVIL, WE SAW, WE CAME, WE PUNISHED.

Here the Judge raises his hand back up to his head.

BUT THEN WE CAME TO GAST, AND SEEING THE EVIL HERE SOUGHT TO PUT AN END TO IT AS WELL. WE SOUGHT TO CUT OUT ITS HEART BY REMOVING THE BARON’S, BUT HE WAS TOO STRONG. NEITHER HE NOR HIS FAMILY ARE HUMAN ANY LONGER: NO HUMAN COULD BE AS STRONG, OR FAST, OR EVIL AS THE BARON HAS BECOME. IN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS HE OUTSMARTED US, AND IN OPEN COMBAT HE BESTED US. AFTERWARDS WE WERE SENT HERE.

Slumping, the Judge lets his hand fall from his face.

WE WERE KEPT SEPARATE DURING OUR INCARCERATION HERE, AND THE GUARDS DAILY TORMENTED US WITH FALSE NEWS OF OUR TWIN’S FATE. OCCASSIONALLY THEY WOULD BRING US TOGETHER IN THE TORTURE CHAMBERS; ONE FORCED TO WATCH WHILE THE OTHER WAS HUMILIATED AND TORTURED FAR BEYOND BREAKING.

As the Judge wearily raised a hand back to his temple, you peer intently into the crystal. You can indeed note the faint markings of countless scars underneath the runes covering the twins’ bodies. The fact that they had been mercilessly tortured before being placed here seemed to be truthful, even if everything else was a lie.

ONE DAY WE WERE BOTH DRAGGED BEFORE ANOTHER SET OF SIBLINGS, EDWARD AND ALPHONSE VOLESIN. THEY SAID THAT THEY WERE CONSTRUCTING A JAIL SEPARATE FROM IRONHEART, AND THEY REQUIRED AN OVERSEER TO MANAGE IT. ALTHOUGH STILL NOT FREE TO DO AS WE WISH OR GO AS WE WISHED, WE WOULD BE ALLOWED TO PRESIDE OVER THE PRISM AS ITS JUDGE AND JURY. WE WOULD SUPERVISE THE INCARCERATION OF OTHER PRISONERS, AND IN RETURN WE WOULD REMAIN, TOGETHER, INSIDE THE PRISM SAFE FROM HARM.

The Judge removes his hand from his forehead, as small beads of flame break off from the main spurts of fire serving as his eyes to slowly run down his face. Tears?

THEY DID NOT TELL US WE WOULD BE LOCKED IN A CRYSTAL OF OUR OWN, AND FORCED TO JOINTLY DIRECT A CONSTRUCT AS OUR AVATAR. WE ENFORCE THE LAW HERE, BUT ARE NO MORE FREE THAN THOSE WE SENTANCE. AND WE MUST BE PERFECT IN OUR CONDUCT, FOR ONLY ONE IS TRULY NEEDED TO DIRECT THE AVATAR. A SERIOUS ENOUGH BREACH, AND THE VOLESINS WILL TAKE ONE OF US AWAY. IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THAT, ANY AMOUNT OF ADDITIONAL SUFFERING HAPPENING TO MY SISTER IS TOO MUCH. I WILL NOT LET IT HAPPEN. AND SO PRISON PROTOCOL DEMANDS THAT I SILENCE YOU, AND I WILL FOLLOW THAT PROTOCOL.

Suddenly uncoordinated, the Judge lurches forward, kneeling down beside you and bringing the gag up to your lips. At the last moment the Judge stops, however, and raises his hand back up to his temple as the flicks of flame stop falling from his eyes.

SSSSSHHH BROTHER. I BELIEVE WE HAVE ANSWERED YOUR QUESTION, PRISONER. DO YOU HAVE ANY OTHERS BEFORE WE CONTINUE OUR DUTY?

The Cells: First Floor

The_Snark

“Cleaning? Cleaning!?” The angry guard snarled as the two marched directly up to you, not quite towering over you physically for you were somewhat tall for your age, but definitely towering over you mentally as the urge to scream brought one to start raising in your throat. But you bit the scream back, because you wanted to do at least one thing right today, and screaming outside of punishment was strictly wrong.

“Here, let me give you something to clean up, then!” The angry guard snarled as he drew his club and brought it up over your head. Before he could begin to punish you though, the other guard interposed himself in between the two, physically grabbing the angry guard’s arm and restraining him.

“You are suicidal? Don’t you know who this little bitch is?” The other guard grunted, struggling with the angry one for control over the club.

“No, and I don’t care. Collaborator filth makes me angry, as if they think those little bracelets keep them safe from us.”

“Yeah, well in this case it does. That’s little Mar, and if you mess up one hair on her head, Brother Corwin will see to it that you die screaming, and that your death will last for days.”

“Brother Corbin could go to Hell. The Church doesn’t run this place!”

“No, but the Warden, and the Baron himself, do. And I’ve heard that they’re both very interested in Little Mar’s safety. But you know what, go ahead. Hit her if you don’t believe me. But as soon as you do I’m going to take my club and break it over your thick head, and drag your sorry ass over to Brother Corwin and explain what you did. And I’m going to do it because he’ll kill me too if I don’t. You being the new guy here isn’t going to safe you over this.”

Growling his displeasure, the angry one shoves his “friend” back, but lowers his arm and sheaths his club. “Alright then, fine. No hitting the kid. What are we supposed to do about the little brat then?”

The other guard grins evilly as he shifts his gaze from his companion over to you, and your terror returns in full as you’ve come to associate people smiling at you to mean particularly cruel punishment is soon to follow.

“That’s easy. We just go take her to see “Daddy” and tell him she was misbehaving. He’ll take care of it for us. Sometimes I just hang outside his office door and listen. The little brat has quite a set of pipes on her, when she’s screaming in agony that is. Pretty quiet outside of that though. Ho, and what’s this!?” The guard says, kneeling down next to you to pick up the soaking wet shirt.

“This nice man loan you his shirt, huh? Did you ask him for it, huh? Talk to him, huh? You know Daddy doesn’t like it when you talk to people like this guy. He’s crazy. Dangerous.”

From within his cell, the nice preacher man growls. “Leave her alone. She was just walking past when she tripped and spilled the bucket. When I saw how concerned she was over the spilled water, and how little progress she was making with just her brush, I tossed my shirt outside to her. There’s was no talking involved, and it was just an accident. She shouldn’t get punished for that.”

For a moment, you were shocked as the man lied. He lied smoothly too, one word flowing swiftly into the next, not the slowly stammered out sentences that you gave when your mind was so clouded by fear that you couldn’t clearly remember what had happened and so tried to lie rather than admit that you didn’t remember. Daddy didn’t believe you either way, and he always found out the truth anyway, sooner or later. But before you can correct the man’s lies with the truth, the guards start talking, and you didn’t want to interrupt, as it was rude. Rudeness was wrong and got you punished too.

“Yeah, right. Come on Mar, get your things. We’re leaving, and if you don’t hurry I’ll tell Daddy you were disobedient too.” The guard said, balling up the wet shirt and tossing it into the face of the nice preacher man.

Angrily the preacher clawed the damp shirt off of his face. “You monsters! You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

“And you should be terrified out of your mind right now, old man. “Daddy” is going to hold you just as responsible as little Mar here for breaking the rules. And when you get punished, I don’t think he’s going to take as much care in avoiding permanent damage as he does with his “little girl”. Now hurry up Mar. We’re going to go see Daddy.”

The Cells: Second Floor

Burrito

(OOC Wow, from Scofield to Hannibal Lecter in one post. That’s an awesome counter to the cell number branding. Too bad you won’t get to use it just yet. )

It is nearing the end of your shift, and you have managed to pass nails to all of the members of your chain gang, even Hans, AKA Prisoner #25843 (not quite up to the hundreds of thousands served yet, I think. ). Your entire body aches, but at least no one has suffered any serious mishaps or injuries today. Just another hour or so of work to go, and then you would be able to return to your cells. And then you would launch the next step of your plan to escape from this awful place.

Unfortunately, Fate seemed determined to spit on you, as from his place in the middle of the ground Shorty’s pick suddenly passes all the way through the rock. “What the. Hey guys, I think we got a holl – ACK!” The prisoner shouts, as hollows were sometimes found in the rock, and such hollows could be very dangerous as their discovery often led to cave-ins shortly thereafter.

Whatever Shorty discovered, it was clearly something worse as two long thin insect legs burst out through the rock just above where his pick had entered, spearing him in the chest. The legs twist inside his body for a moment, giving him an instant to gurgle out blood instead of an additional warning, and then the legs react out of him and back inside the wall. And then an instant later that section of the wall explodes outward, sending Shorty’s pick flying and revealing a dark tunnel roughly two feet wide. And standing in the mouth of that dark tunnel was a spider as big as large dog, all black except for brilliant green markings on its back and large bone white saw-like fangs that it rubbed together

Scrape . . . scrape . . . scrape . . . hiss.

Dripping from the creature’s readied fangs, a drop of saliva falls to the floor of the tunnel you were standing in, burning a small hole in the ground with an unforgettable hissing noise. For a moment, the entire tunnel is silent, and then chaos erupts. All of the other prisoners stare at the fallen body of Shorty or at the spider beginning to crawl out of the tunnel, screaming all the while.

As if the screams were a signal, suddenly you notice another three sets of legs burrowing out of the same wall as the first spider, spaced evenly down the length of the tunnel back the way you had come. As this new bad news appears, you can hear the guards shouting over the din of the screaming.

“****! Borrow Spiders! What we’re going to do?”

“What do you think, you idiot? We’re getting the hell out of here? Hopefully the damn things will be satisfied with six prisoner corpses!”

“Sounds good to me, let’s book it!”

Turning as one, all four of your guards turn to flee down the tunnel before the other Borrow Spiders, as they called them, could emerge out into the tunnel to block escape. With them went a majority of the weapons, outside of your mining tools, as well as all but one lantern which one of the guards had set down so he could use his club in both hands. So it was going to get dark in this tunnel soon, and you and the four surviving miners would need to contend with an almost equal number of angry, giant, acidic spiders.

Torture Chambers

Dorizzit

For just a moment, Seraph appears as you have never before seen him: uncertain. He clearly also deliberates with himself silently for a few moments, and then shakes his head. “It would take too long to explain. We must hurry before they lock this section of the prison down. If you do not trust me, Korram, then I do not ask you to follow me.” Without another word, he turns and walks away, stepping through the doorway into the next chamber.

“Seraph . . . Seraph. That name sounds so familiar to me, and yet I can’t place it.” The Countess mutters, tugging on a strand of her long hair. Finally, she shakes her head and sighs. “I don’t know if we should trust him, Korram. But he apparently knows the way out of here, and I would rather not stay in this terrible place any longer than necessary.”

Without another word, the Countess moves off, following in Seraph’s footsteps into the next chamber. (Here I’m just going to assume that you don’t say “yeah, well screw you!” to the only two NPCs and allies that you know, and refuse to follow them. Correct me if I’m wrong on that. )

Grunting, you follow along with an irritated sigh, more mystified about your companion than ever before. But there is no time for further talking, as with Seraph in the lead you carefully pick your way through more than a dozen rooms. Most are currently deserted, although a few contains prisoners or guards that you carefully slip past, Seraph always moving swiftly ahead you, preventing you from stopping to rendering assistance to any more prisoners. Silently, you promise to yourself that you would return to free them at a later date, once you were out of danger of being recaptured yourself.

Finally you enter a large chamber that contains a number of large torture devices but is devoid of prisoners. There is no longer a door directly in front of you, and so you have at last found the far corner of the torture chambers. With only the doorway you came through and the one on the left available, Seraph quickly moves to the other doorway across the room. But as he peers about the side to see if the path onwards was clear, you hear a loud shout from a room beyond and watch as Seraph leans back out of the doorway just in time to dodge a crossbow bolt.

“Elites. Three of them.” Seraph grunts, producing a crossbow of his own from underneath his cloak and returning fire.

Hearing a shout behind you, you turn to find that a group of five normal guards has entered the chamber behind you, and seeing you and the Countess, are rapidly approaching the doorway leading into the chamber that you were now in with Seraph. Trapped in the same chamber as Seraph, would perhaps be a more accurate description.

OverWilliam/Adlan

Sucking on the gaping hole in his hand, Garm manages to remove most of the silver splinters left in the wound by the various needles and the crossbow bolt itself. He downs both a vial of stimulants and a healing potion, immediately feeling much more alert and much better overall. As if he had been able to regenerate from this wounds, the hole in Garm’s hand slowly closes shut from the healing potion’s magic. It fills in with tender, raw bloody flesh, which would be in danger of becoming infected later, but at least there was no longer a gaping hole in his hands. Some of the more minor wounds and needle punctures across his body also slowly seal shut.

Now somewhat refreshed, Garm walks around to all of the guards, making sure each of them is dead and collecting weapons and keys from each of them. Then selecting a heavy dagger from one of the collected pile of weapons, Garm slides the blade into one of the chain links holding Tare aloft. It is a momentary fierce struggle, the wolfling’s might against the strength of the iron, but ultimately iron gave out as the link was forced apart by the dagger, breaking Tare free from the ceiling.

The rogue, now subject to gravity again, rapidly fell towards the floor but the wolfling manage to half catch him, slowing his fall enough that his impact against the ground was little more than an unpleasant bump.

Sitting down next to his friend, Garm sets to work on sawing through the collar around his neck. It is indeed made out of a good portion of silver, and Garm makes quick progress in forcing the heavy dagger of the dagger through it. However, as he gets about halfway through the wolfing realizes that the collar is bolted rather tightly around his neck. As such, in his barely awake condition, it is possible that his hand may slip as the blade travels through the last bit of metal, slicing his throat. That does not necessarily mean that will happen, of course, and the benefits of full freedom for the wolfling may far overweight the risk of ending his own life. Indeed, in such as a situation as he and his friend found themselves in, taking their own lives might be preferable to eventual recapture and further torment. But there was also that ever present, ever elusive haunting scent in the air, slowly growing stronger in Garm’s nostrils by the minute: freedom.

The Cells: Maximum Security

Baerdog7

“O-Okay! *gasp* He’s heading up to the Spires. *gasp* Heard he was going to meet up with Brother Corwin, see how his little bitch is doing.” For once, the acolyte’s fearful face twists into an evil sneer.

“What, you think you’re the only *gasp* one we bleed? Not gonna *gasp* matter though. There’s hundreds of guards *gasp* between you and there, and magical *gasp* sensors that’ll pick you up the instant you leave *gasp* this cell. So why don’t you just climb back up *gasp* onto the symbol there, and save yourself the beating?”

“You know, I was wondering about that. Of course, it *is* magic, so maybe the sensors outside really can tell you apart from him, Lord General. But I wonder if they don’t analyze each individual, so much as what he’s wearing?” Your invisible savior suddenly comments, and the acolyte fearfully looks about to locate the source of this new voice.

“What the? Who’s there? *gasp* You had help getting down?”

“Of course, you idiot. The Lord General is a powerful paladin in his own right, but he’s not a ninja. Now, as we were just discussing, how do the sensors recognize you and therefore don’t sound an alarm when you’re moving about down here? Something you wear, perhaps?”

“No, no, that’s not it at all! *gasp gasp* You’re crazy!” The acolyte denies, but his eyes tell you all that you need to know about the truth of the matter.

“I suggest you search him, Lord General. Thoroughly. You might not be able to detect magical power, but I should be able to pick up any weak magical signals emanating from the objects on his person. In fact, I can pick up a very faint one now, although I can’t specifically locate it on his person. It’s probably hidden inside or under his clothing – that would scatter the aura enough that I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint it.”

The Labs

Iethloc

So that’s it? That’s what motivates you? No desire to better the world or protect it from the evil that seeks to destroy it? Just a simple race to the bottom in order to reach ultimate power before the others. That’s why your kind sicken me, and I was honored to take part in your imprisonment. At least the Four Sages sought to understand scum like you to learn how to better take you apart, or so I thought until Gene tried to kill me as well.

Although violence may not be the best solution, it is currently the only solution that I can think of. Unless you wish to remain here for the rest of our natural lives?

“Actually, neither of you would die here. Neither of you could die, not really, locked outside of the normal flow of time.” The man answered calmly, apparently able to read your thoughts.

“And yes, I’m aware that you are Sohssal, the demon mage! Kinda an overdramatic title, don’t you think? But I guess when you’re able to go incorporeal at will and possess random objects you earn the right to have a little arrogance. Still, don’t think you’re going to be able to walk away from this one very easily, oh no.”

The man smiles easily, waving a hand as it conjures up three plain glasses for the Donovale. “I’m not quite sure I should be telling you how I did it, particularly as you’re a mage yourself. You might steal my secrets.” He says, smoothly stepping over the words “your creator” as he continues presenting himself as the same man you saw upon first entering this room.

“But basically, it’s not an energy intensive as you might think. I just need to temporally displace a copy of this room, kicking it outside the normal flow of time. Once it’s outside of time, it’s stays out of time on its own, not needing any extra energy to maintain. So, I only need power when I’m separating a room, and I guess when I’m rejoining a room to the timeline, should I never need to do that for some reason. What’s wrong, friend? You’re looking a little green there.”

Rooms remaining outside the flow of time? Naturally? The entire idea was at odds with your theory of magic, where the entire world was a single thing that resisted the attempts of mages to manipulate it. For every act of magic, there was a cost as Nature pushed back to restore everything to the way it was. As a result, even maintaining the simplest spell tended to become draining over time as magical energy was gradually siphoned off to keep Nature from rearranging everything back. And yet this jackass had somehow not only found a way to manipulate time, but manipulate it without expending vast amounts of energy to maintain the temporal flux?

Looking around the room, you had to admit that you got only the briefest glimpse of the “real” room before ending up in this funhouse mockery. However, it did appear to be an exact duplicate, except for one troubling detail. Although you were sure you had left the door leading into the room open when you had entered, looking back now revealed the door was closed.

As if sensing your question, the man answers. “Yeah, I closed the door after you entered. Really messes with some people’s heads to stare out into nothingness where there was once, y’know, an actual room.”

Sanctuary of the Prophets

Pwenet/WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma

(OOC: Dang, I put people together into teams to lessen the work I have to do, and here you are making more work. Keep up the good work. )

“Umm . . . I-I’m fine. Th-thanks.” The nameless girl says in reply to Victor’s question, nervously looking up from her meal to stare at the stitching criss-crossing on the alchemist’s face. There was still something off about the girl, something Victor was sure he had never seen before, which made it all the more vexing. It was getting quite tiring running into new things down here, but at least new meant more available research that could be done, all in search of the final two elusive goals of alchemy.

While Victor tried, and largely failed, to work his charms on the nameless companion of Akor, Umber assisted Cassandra. The shackles holding her wrists against the small of her back were made out of simple iron, and with the fiery blood of the dragonman burning in his veins Umber easily had the strength to twist the metal apart. For a moment Cassandra grunted in pain as muscles long left unused were called upon again, but she seemed to quickly recover. Holding her hands up in front of her face, the female monk turned them back and forth in front of her eyes, studying them intently.

“You never would think it would be possible, but I’m pretty sure I was quite close to even forgetting what my hands looked like.” Turning to the vampire lord, she gave a rare smile. “Thank you.” After that, Cassandra’s attentions were solely on the cooked meat in front of her as she greedily dived into lunch.

Mellita, however, remained peckish, shaking her head at Umber’s offer. “I’m good, thank you Lord Umber. I am solely concerned about you recovering your strength. I have drank animal blood only on several occasions, and each time it has made me ill.”

The children are disappointed that Akor did not do his magic trick of twisting apart Cassandra’s bonds, but a few make appreciative calls to “Uncle Umber”. In any case, they are also initially grossed out by Akor’s transformation, many shouting “Eeeeeewww!” As blood flies out in all directions from his shoulder blades. But these shouts of disgust quickly turned to wonderous “Oooooooo!!!!” As the dragonman uses his new wings to take to the air, lifting himself up onto a perch before dropping back down to the ground.

After lunch, the conversation turns to battle plans. Mellita is the first to disagree. “Lord Umber, while I believe now that the secret exit is now held by these cultist . . . creatures . . . surely fighting our way through a handful of them would be easier than an entire fortress. The secret exit must be somewhere nearby, and I imagine that these cultists probably use it so as not to bother the guards when moving about. Perhaps we should scout further ahead and attempt to locate it while Akor and Victor collect these silly books?” Mellita’s disdain for the alchemist is plain, although her plan meets with some support from others.

“You mean there’s a secret exit out of this place? Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s find it and get out of this nightmarish place right away!” The nameless girl shouts. Cassandra, still busy eating and enjoying the use of her hands again, and the children do not voice a particular stance to either option.

Eventually, the topic of debate turns to the gem inside Akor’s head, which as the dragonman knew had the power to render him unconscious upon hearing a particular phrase recited in draconic. With Victor now amongst their number, however, the chances of the group managing to remove the gem seemed high and so an operation was planned.

Although clearly disgusted at the idea, Mellita did loan her silver blade for the process, and the long dagger proved much more capable at hacking through Akor’s thick skull than Victor’s fingertips. Removing a section of skull, Victor peered inside the delicate structure before him, aware that a simple slip could potentially end the dragonman’s life.

With great care the alchemist doctor moved aside a few more flaps of tissue, and smiled in triumphant as the glowing gold thumbnail-sized gem came into sight. Reaching in to grasp the gem between his thumb and forefinger, Victor began to try to extract it when he made an irritating discovery. The gem was magical, and as could be anticipated from such irritating magical devices, it had magical defenses. No sooner did Victor begin pulling at the gem than a sharp electrical discharge flooded up Victor’s arm and into Akor’s brain. The later simply doubled over in pain, groaning as he clasped his bleeding head as pain spiked through every corner. The former went flying back through the air, sliding to a halt on the floor several feet away, his entire arm still tingling.

The one reward for this, perhaps, was the entertainment of the children, who immediately all began to clap and cheer. “Again, Uncle Victor! Do it again!”

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber gave Cassandra a smile in return, nodding as she thanked him for freeing her hands Not at all, my dear... I can only apologize for not seeing to them earlier.

He turned to Mellita, giving her a smile in turn I thank you for your concern, my dear... but such methods would offer little in the way of sustenance and would cause more problems than it would be worth. As she proposed her plan, he nodded thoughtfully. Yes... that is one option. But personally I would prefer all of use proceed to the exit as soon as possible. Splitting up does not seem the wisest plan to me, and as interested as I am in acquiring these texts, I value my own hide rather higher. I have no desire to be stuck in silver, as I doubt I will be given a second chance at escape. He sighed, staring pensively at the wall for a moment, as if lost in though. When he next spoke, the reluctance was clear in his tone. I suppose, if the rest of you insist, we could raid this library. But only briefly, and then we should leave. Rapidly. Pursuit will no doubt follow us soon, and if we move together we have a better chance of all escaping. Splitting our power in this place is ill advised, I think.

And besides that thought Umber The more bodies I can put between me and danger, the better.

He watched idly as Victor performed his operation, sitting up suddenly as the arc of electricity send the alchemist flying. Approaching carefully, he looked down carefully, examining the gem and looking for a way to remove it without such... unpleasantness.

[Dorizzit]

At Seraph's answer, Korram nods. "Very well. Another time, then." He knits his eyebrows in frustration when Seraph prevents him from rescuing other prisoners. After Seraph calls his alarm, Korram thinks for a few seconds. He nods to himself, silently. "Seraph, hold off the grunts. I'll deal with the Elites." Korram focuses for a moment, as the heat shimmer surrounding his arm begins to spread around his body. Leaping around the corner, he grits his teeth in pain as some of his skin begins to blister. Nevertheless, the technique proves effective as crossbow shots directed at him incinerate in the air before reaching him. The effect gives even the Elite guards pause, which is all Korram needs. "Heh. I learned how to deal with you b******* last time." he whips his arm out, the heat shimmer around his body whipping out to wrap around the elites, heating their armor first red, then white hot. He holds it like that for seconds, then a minute, and then releases it, the guards bodies falling to the ground. Korram then collapses to one knee, the burns covering his body screaming to make themselves heard as the haze of adrenaline fades. "Hate doing that..." he mutters. "Oh well, better than dying."

[Lonna]

ANY AMOUNT OF ADDITIONAL SUFFERING HAPPENING TO MY SISTER IS TOO MUCH. I WILL NOT LET IT HAPPEN. AND SO PRISON PROTOCOL DEMANDS THAT I SILENCE YOU, AND I WILL FOLLOW THAT PROTOCOL.

Suddenly uncoordinated, the Judge lurches forward, kneeling down beside you and bringing the gag up to your lips. At the last moment the Judge stops, however, and raises his hand back up to his temple as the flicks of flame stop falling from his eyes.

SSSSSHHH BROTHER. I BELIEVE WE HAVE ANSWERED YOUR QUESTION, PRISONER. DO YOU HAVE ANY OTHERS BEFORE WE CONTINUE OUR DUTY?

Pyrene

Any doubts Pryene had about the truth of the twins' story dissipated when the construct began to shed flame tears. Really, their situation was not so different from her own. They were trying to protect each other in the only way they could, just as she was trying to protect Ariella. There would be no way to talk them out of re-gagging her, but the importance of attempting to do so had faded somewhat in her mind, replaced by a desire to somehow comfort these kindred spirits.

"I have just one last question. What were- what are your names? I may be only a prisoner who is condemned to die, but at least for a while, one person will remember you, not just the construct you control." Shifting her gaze from the twins' avatar to the twins themselves, encased in crystal, she added, "I'd like to have names to put with your faces."

Once they answered, she asked no more questions and accepted the hated gag back into her mouth. Though she didn't visibly fight the gag, she did all she could to subtly gain some extra slack as it went in, then steeled herself as well as she could for the return to Ironheart proper.

Edit: On the off chance that they ask for her name, she will give them her real name, Jaqueline.

[Baerdog7]

Ander Windrivver

Long years of service had given Ander and uncanny ability to read people, and he was reading the acolyte like a book.

You are a terrible liar, Ander growls, tightening his grip on the acolyte's throat. He slams his knee back down into the acolyte's gut one, two, three times, severely knocking the wind out of him. While the acolyte coughs and sputters, desperately trying to regain his wind, Ander rummages through his clothes and emptying everything he finds onto the ground while he tries to find whichever magical piece of tchotchke would let him evade the magical sensors.

[MrEdwardNigma]

((I assume Victor didn't find anythingwhen searching the room?))

The group was turning against him. Victor could feel it. None of them liked him, but they seemed all too fond of the other monsters. Vampires and a dragon hybrid, and it was him they disliked? Victor had even been civil, he'd offered up good resources and plans in trade for some services, but they hadn't yielded. This one time in his life Victor hadn't simply taken what he wanted but kindly asked for it was the day they'd refuse him what he wanted?

Victor got up after the shock. He'd had plenty worse in his lab. Channeling lightning was usually dangerous business. He swiped his hands, which were dripping with blood, on the inside of his skinpocket. Removing the stone had proved dangerous, but at least Victor had now found the powersource he needed to create some zombies. A much more valuable resource than these compatriots of his.

Immediately Victor set to work on the animal flesh, creating three orblike creatures with feet and tentacles. The creatures were rather fast and their tentacles very strong, but they were also very fragile. If their body got pierced deep enough they would explode in a blaze of blood. These creatures could prove perfect distractions.

Having channeled the power to create these three flesh hulks, he turned to the others.
"I still support going up. Not specifically because of the books, but because I have little faith in this secret exit. Even if it still exists, a highly doubtful matter, we should remember that the lower you are in the dungeon, the more dangerous guards you will meet. You should also remember I already made it through the escape route I described once. I know what's there, and more importantly, I have proved that it is possible to pass through there alive. Surely, with you fellows added to our team, nothing down ther could stop us?"

He then turned to Akor specifically.
"I apologise for having used you as a power source, Akor. But you can clearly take it, and you can't feel any of the pain due to my accupressure. I can still remove the gem, if you like, but I will require certain ingredients. First of all, I'll need some salt. We could probably acquire this by heating some sweat. I'll need silver too, but this dagger seems to be made out of that, so that is taken care of as well. I still have some mould I could use as a burning reagent, but then there are two more difficult things to achieve. I'll need grease and vampire blood. Well, any potent blood will do, but Akor's is out of the question as he is the patient being treated. Besides, it looks like he's shed plenty of blood already. If you could find another powerfull magical creature, like a demon, that's fine by me as well. Don't try the cultists upstairs though, they function on human blood, except probably their core, but that is terribly elusive. As for the grease, perhaps we could find some lumps of animal fat in our food supply?"

As he left the group to think about this, Victor turned to the girl again, and whispered to her "I have noticed your particular condition. Don't worry, I won't tell the others. You clearly have your reasons for keeping it a secret. I will need some details on it myself, though. As you know, I am a scientist. My research is for personal purposes, so you have nothing to fear"

Whenever he had the chance, Victor reminded Cassandra she was not to trust the dragon, and certainly not the vampires. Victor knew about them, and they were dangerous, bloodthirsty creatures. The strange girl wasn't to be trusted either. She was clearly of some strange race, maybe a shapeshifter, a werewolf or a demon possessing a human. The only reason they were working with Victor and Cassandra was because they were useful at the time. As soon as they made it out of the dungeon, they would be dead weight to the monsters.
"It's you and me, Cassandra, against this whole dungeon"

Victor also took the time to sew himself a second skinpocket. If he were to find medical equipment sometime soon, he would need a place to store it. Besides, he hadn't had a surgical update in a long time. He needed the thrill.

[ubersquid]

On the girls strange request, Elkwin suppressed a cough as well. He looked at her with his eyes wide open. Squatting at the bedside, his eyes moved from the girl to the door and back again, avoiding Marv by all means.

For some reason he wanted to make sure that no one would see what he was about to do. Sure he was only talking himself into it, because Marv was off course still standing next to him, but he quite successfully ignored him at the moment.

Elkwin was imagining all kinds of stories of how his life would end...
"The dopey innkeeper who got persuaded by a ghost-girl to kiss her and contracted the black plague..."
"The dopey innkeeper who got persuaded by a ghost-girl to kiss her and died moments after..."
"The dopey innkeeper who got persuaded by a ghost-girl to kiss her and vanished into thin air, not to be seen again..."

Still he was curious, and he somehow had a right feeling about it. If she would have wanted to trick him into touching or kissing her, she could have promised him freedom and riches, but she did not. Instead she just told a vague story about possibly becoming a hero. As she could obviously read his mind, of course this could just have been what he really wanted to hear.

With his thoughts running in circles, Elkwin sits there for a while, when suddenly his eyes spring open widely in enlightenment.

"When the head starts to hurt, think with your gut."

He straightens himself up, bows over the girl and takes a deep breath.

"Great adventure comes with great risk, or however that saying goes..."

Elkwin presses his eyelids together as hard as he can, purses his lips and slowly lowers them towards the ghosts mouth.

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

At first eagerly anticipating his return to the floor, Tare immediately dreaded it. The muscles in his neck and limbs, having adjusted to hanging upside down now had to re-learn gravity for the second time in as many days. The physical reaction was much different this time, however; all of the blood sunk out of Tare's head and left his dark. Had anyone looked at his face he was deathly pale; in fact the only thing that kept him from going unconscious completely was the stimulants that Garm gave him. Sitting there as calmly as his sluggish heart rate, shivering trembles, and sudden blindness would allow, Tare knew to wait until his vision repaired itself, but convincing himself to do it was another matter. Slowly his face pinked and his world coaxed itself back to color one shade at a time.

Then realizing the pain coming from his ankles, Tare shakily shifted so that his weight was no longer on the sore, chafed rings around his feet. His breath jittered in and out, but Tare was once again thinking as the thief he was. I want my hands back.

The manacles connecting his hands were of much sterner construction than the chain that had held him from the ceiling. No dagger would be able to force them loose, or many longswords either for that matter. But with all of the prostrate forms around them, at least one of them must have had some kind of key to get him loose, and barring that he was willing to give a few more creative ideas a shot. He scuffled around as best he could, tugging guard's pockets inside out and searching their belts for keyrings and the like, his progress slowed painfully by his hands being behind his back and hooked together. "Well, I can think of at least one good thing that's come of this," he said to Garm. "If I had money I'd bet that I'm a good three inches taller," he said, with a pained laugh.

[Pwenet]

Akor

Flashes of light dance in front of Akor’s eyes as he lies on the ground oblivious to the world. The pain that stabbed through his body slowly starts to fade.

Dancing with a smiling beautiful woman, her eyes showing love and tenderness.

A hand not his own reaches out towards his head, covered in scales and claws. Too human it looks, covered with blood that smells of his own.

A ring being placed on the finger in a hidden ceremony.

Groaning Akor turns his head slightly.

”Is it out?”

Screaming as he is thrown in a dark damp cell, bound with simple shakles.

Akor groans as he stands up, letting his wings flutter slightly. One hand shakily reaches behind his skull and touches the open wound, which is already starting to heal.

”If you want to get that out, I strongly suggest you hurry.”

[Burrito]

Not good!

“Get back! Everyone back up!” I hollered. “We’ll have to fight them together, or they will take us apart.”
With that I began to push and shove the other prisoners further back down the tunnel. Shorty had been the fourth down the line, but there was enough of us, and enough desperation that dragging his corpse wasn’t hard. When I got to where Shorty had fallen, I picked up his pick. We were going to need it.

“Cut him loose.” I shouted to Tattoos. Tattoos seemed startled for a second, but only a second, then, with about three blows from the edge of his shovel, Shorty’s hand was cut from his arm.

By now we had moved about 15 feet down from the first Burrow spider. There wasn’t enough room for all of us to stand shoulder to shoulder, but we did cram four of us in there, with Hans just behind Tattoos.

(OOC here is another MS Paint masterpiece)



The Burrow spiders had all come out by now. Four of them. We could see them fairly well, since they were all back-lit by the guard’s forgotten lantern. The spiders could sense us and were probably being drawn by Shorty’s blood. The first spider stopped over the fresh corpse. It sort of crouched over it, waving its first two legs at the other spiders and clicking its fangs together. The other spiders seemed interested in the body, be were unwilling to fight over the first spiders prize. Besides they could see fresh meat just down the tunnel.
Their legs were 2-3 feet long, but unfortunately our tools weren’t much longer. We were going to have to have to get close. And it appeared those spiders could move very fast. They were advancing rapidly…

“Picks, go for the body!” I heard One-Ear shout, “Shovels go for the legs.”

The next 40 seconds was nothing short of absolute desperate chaos.

I remember slamming my pick into the body of one of the spiders, while Sevi hacked at its right side legs. The pick I just left in the bug, while I held onto the handle as best I could. The spider tried to retreat a bit, trying to twist and bite at the pick in its back. It was far from dead, but it was somewhat occupied. Its legs were thrashing about, and several times I felt sharp, hot pain on my legs and arms. Sevi continued to beat on it with his shovel. And after several tries he got lucky and caved in its head. There was a shower of blood and acid/venom. Coating the shovel head, and getting all over the handle. It also got all over Sevi’s arms. He dropped the shovel and just started screaming. A frantic, high pitched sound that would probably wake me up out of a dead sleep for years to come.
“Hans! Take care of Sevi!” I shouted. There was enough slack in the work chain, that Hans could reach Sevi. I was worried about him, but I also did not want to trip over him, and have him in the way right now.
One-ear and Tattoos were also having their hands full. One spider was showing signs of severe damage. Three of its legs were broken off, and it was missing about five of its eight eyes from a shovel hit from Tattoos. A third spider had several deep gashes in its exoskeleton from One-ear's pick, but he had been unable to make a clean solid hit. One-ear then screamed. “Oh gods!” As the spider was able to stab two legs into One-ear’s right thigh. One quick jerk and the spider had him off of his feet. One-ear was punching at the things face, trying to kick it away. But the spider knew what to do. Instinct took over. Grab. Pounce. Bite. The spider’s fangs plunged into One-ear’s belly, pumping massive amounts of acid/venom into his body. The spider knew it would have a wonderful liquid meal in a few minutes. Unfortunately for it, that was its last rudimentary though, as Tattoos shovel was able to sever the things head from its body.
I grabbed up the pick I had taken from Shorty. I went over and finished off the wounded spider. It was hissing at me, acid dripping from its fangs, but it was hurt, and unable to move quickly. I held the pick with the two points out to the sides, rather than up and down. This wasn’t going to be precision work, I just wanted to crush it as fast and as brutally as I could. One. Two. Three times I brought the heavy metal tool down on the spider. The first hit stunning it and crushing two more of its legs. The second blow sent oozing cracks along its fat, and glossy black body. The third hit sinking the entire head of the pick into its innards. The hissing stopped.
That is when I felt something cold and sticky hitting my back and shoulders. I looked up and saw the first spider. The one I had forgotten about up on the ceiling above me. It was sending down a stream of sticky spider web, trying to immobilize me. I dove off to the side the best I could.
“It’s above us.” I shouted out.
Hans and Tattoo advanced. They only had shovels, but they were both tall enough to reach the ceiling with them. They swung from the same side, and the same time. The spider was knocked off and into the north wall. Streaming out web material the whole time. It quickly got back on its feet. I scrambled in the tangle of chains and bodies, and was able to find One-ears pick. Then, all three of us advanced on the spider. We spread out the best we could. Hans in the middle, Tattoos on the left, and me on the right. We were about to end this thing, when it did something the others hadn’t, it jumped. The spider launched itself right at Hans, knocking him down and back. Hans was screaming at it. He had one fang in each hand, wrestling with the bug on top of him. All of us were screaming. Hans in fear and pain, and acid/venom was dripping all over his hands and face. And Tattoos and I in anger and frustration. Again, I held the pick sideways, for fear of driving it through the spider and into Hans, and went to smash the spider to pieces. Tattoos had the same idea, but he was closer. Tattoos had the shovel over his head, and was about to bring it down on the spider with all his might, when the spiders hissing turned to some strange pitch, followed by a wet sounding “crack”.
Hans was lying there, with a fang in each hand, and each fang was attached to one half o the spiders head. Using the last of his strength, he had ripped the spiders head off and apart. It was a heroic act, but it was also his last one. The acidic venom having eaten through his hands and face. Quickly entering the blood stream.
Tattoos and I were the only ones still alive. Sevi, having succumbed to the venom, was dead along with the others. After a few moments, I say a simple prayer for Shorty, Sevi, One-ear and Hans.

“Athelion, Bringer of Light, Bringer of Life.
Hear us, your faithful servants.
Receive the souls of Your Children.
Guide them out of the Darkness,
And to Your Light Eternal.”

(OOC, *sigh* I guess that is enough for now. Tattoos and I will use the venom to eat through the locks on the chains if we can. We will be very careful not to get any of the stuff on ourselves. It seems the only thing impervious to it is the spiders bodies themselves. Then we will collect up whatever we can. Tools, the lantern, etc….)