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Post by Lord Harrab on Oct 13, 2014 0:17:43 GMT
Part one: The Frozen Cells Night fall's quickly here. The tiny windows high up in the cell walls allow a glimpse of a storm wracked sky that fades to grey, then a deep darkness, accompanied by the howl of the wind that sends shivers down the spines of the cell occupants. On this night, the night the whispered plans had decided would bring an end to this nightmare, either through the quiet embrace of death, or by tearing down the walls themselves, the chained saw the fact the Guards bothered to feed them as a good sign, enduring the mocking of the faceless guards as they always had, while within them all burned a tiny light of hope. Once the guards had tired of mocking their charges and likewise of the cold winds that sped through the corridors, they retreated further into the prison, to patrol the warmer corridors and attend to other more interesting duties. About half an hour after the last guard had strutted off, certain these half-starved wretches will be no problem, the Spren apeared. Drifting around the torches by the door in that unknowable way of theirs, glowing a sickly green as their aura picked up on the sickness and death all around them. Then with a soft "pop" another Spren joined them, but it glowed a light blue, something that instantly attracted the attention of every prisoner, and rather than drifting aimlessly, head in what for for Spren a direct path towards the cells, buffering slightly in the wind and S'pren's general absentmindedness. When it reached Petor's cell door, it became more distinct. It perched on the gap in the cell door where food was infrequently passed and regarded the warrior within, frowned, then said in its soft, surprising loud voice, "You shouldn't be in there." It fluttered closer to the tired warrior, watched by the occupants of the other cells, and spoke again. "There's a great Evil coming for you.... I... I remember being told, no, not told. Hearing the metal men speak of it with fear. You mustn't be here when she arrives." It buzzed around his head silently, its attention on the others, its tiny expression distant as if concentrating on something else. then with a soft pop it vanished through the wall. High above the other Sprites watched impassively, still the same sickly green. Then they too vanished. A few minutes pass, then there is another pop right beside the human warrior's head, the blue S'pren had returned, holding a pair of lockpicks like they were made of lead. "i... know of these. They were taken from you. They open doors." the Sprite said, dropping them at his feet. "You must leave now!"
All Players have Prison Rags Stale bread Petor has been given lock-picks by the well meaning, but confused S'pren the S'pren knows about the local area and can help, but is unused to communicating with the "normal" Races, so they might be some difficulty.
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coolyo294
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Post by coolyo294 on Oct 14, 2014 3:23:06 GMT
The wind was particularly icy tonight as it howled through the grim hallways of the prisoner's quarters. Mercifully the guards had left, taking their cruel taunts with them, and leaving Petor with one less thing to deal with. The petty jibes of those lesser men had never particularly bothered him, but it was still irritating to listen to those preening fools prance about, thinking themselves so mighty because they ruled over a bunch of prisoners. But tonight at least they had given them food, even though such generosity typically proceeded calamitous events.
Petor munched on the stale bread. It was tasteless and hard as a rock, but at least it was something. Although he desired to ravenously tear apart the loaf and wolf it down, he resisted the urge. His pride as a warrior still held sway and prevented him from sinking to such unbecoming depths. As he ate, the sprites began to appear as they did every night. In Corinth sprites had always been regarded as blood-red harbingers of good fortune on the eve of battle, but the sickly green variety that drifted around the prison seemed to be quite the opposite. He paid them little heed and continued to focus on his bread.
But with a pop, a new sprite appeared that managed to draw Petor's attention. Unlike the others it was bright blue and flew with a purpose rather than aimlessly drifting. It angled itself to land on the food slot of Petor's cell door and the grizzled warrior straightened up, curious as to what this new sprite wanted with him.
Its voice was soft, yet surprisingly loud. "You shouldn't be in there. There's a great Evil coming for you.... I... I remember being told, no, not told. Hearing the metal men speak of it with fear. You mustn't be here when she arrives."
Petor was speechless for a long moment. But as he opened his mouth to reply, the sprite vanished again with a pop only to reappear a few moments later next to Petor's head clutching a pair of lockpicks.
"i... know of these. They were taken from you. They open doors." The sprite said as she dropped them at his feet. "You must leave now!"
Any suspicion Petor had felt vanished. Those lockpicks had been confiscated from him weeks ago and he thought he'd never see them again. But now they were here and he had a very real shot at escaping this hell.
"Thank you, spren. I shall not forget this." Petor said, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He tucked the lockpicks into the waistband of his ragged trousers and walked to the other side of his cell, where a dwarf was watching intently from the next cell over. No words were necessary as the dwarf slid a crude shiv into Petor's hand. It wasn't much, nothing more than a sharpened spike wrapped in rags, but it would serve its purpose well enough.
Next it took Petor about fifteen minutes to undo the lock on his cell door. He pushed the door ajar slightly, enough to prevent the lock from reengaging but not enough for a casual observer to notice it was open. As soon as that was done, he waved at the prisoner across the hall from him to get his attention.
"I need you to pretend to be hurt. Flail, moan, do whatever you need to do, just get one of the guard's attention and get him into your cell." Petor muttered as quietly as he could.
The other prisoner nodded and flopped into the corner of his cell. Soon his low moans of pain echoed through the prisoner's quarters. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for prisoners to fall sick or injured, necessitating a guard to come in and drag their body gods-know-where. After five minutes of moaning, Petor's plan paid off. The loud clunk of the main door unlocking sounded over the moans and the heavy tread of armoured footsteps soon followed. Eventually the guard stopped in front of the prisoner's cell.
"What's the matter, scum? Sick?" he said jeeringly. From his lilting accent Petor determined this was Farooq, a particularly vicious guard.
"Please help me... It hurts..." the prisoner said. Petor had to admit, the man was a good actor.
"Worthless. But we can't have feeble scum like you hanging around when the Mistress arrives." the guard said as he fitted a key into cell's lock.
Using the noise as a cover, Petor stood up and slowly pushed his own cell door open. When the guard stepped into the cell to grab the supposedly injured prisoner, that was when Petor struck. Moving faster than his massive frame and somewhat malnourished state would lend to, he wrapped his left forearm around the guard's throat and plunged the shiv down at the base of his skull. The sharpened spike punched through Farooq's spinal column, severing it instantly. As the body went limp in Petor's grasp he continued to plunge the shiv into the guard's neck, venting months of frustration and abuse in that one instant.
The fire of hope burned brightly in Petor's breast as he took the guard's keys and sword. Muttering quickly spread through the prisoners as they realized what was happening and it only increased in volume as Petor began to unlock their cells. Some spent their first moments of freedom desecrating the corpse of their tormentor. Some laughed, some wept, some embraced each other.
But one thing was for certain now. The uprising had begun and the prison would run red with the blood of the oppressor.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 14, 2014 4:26:18 GMT
The old man watch intently from his cell as the Corinthian killed that damned guard. As the other prisoners cheered and celebrated Gareth stepped away from the group, he quickly stole a look through the main door to make sure no one was coming before turning around and facing the gaggle of prisoners. "Shut the hell up." He hissed, "One guard is dead, dozens more could be coming at any moment with gods know what in else tow. We need to find weapons before that happens." Hatred and fury burned in the old man's eyes as he spoke, hatred of the evil bastard guards and their evil bastard leader, fury at the senseless death, violence and suffering they had caused. "If there is to be even the slightest chance of making it out of this damned dungeon we need to find the guards storehouse without raising the alarm, and we need to get those weapons to as many prisoners as we can free."
Gareth stood silent for a moment, sucking in air through gritted teeth. After collecting himself he turned to the Corinthian, "We haven't been properly introduced, Gareth Swad is my name, our best chance to find that storehouse will be with only two or three people."
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coolyo294
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Post by coolyo294 on Oct 14, 2014 5:08:09 GMT
"Petor Kasabian. And aye, you're right." Petor said as he used the dead guard's trousers to wipe the blood off his hands. He turned to address the crowd of prisoners. "Only come if you have experience fighting and aren't afraid to die. The rest of you wait here and use the keys to free as many more of us as you can."
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Post by Warork on Oct 14, 2014 6:54:54 GMT
From the shadows of the first cell that Petor opened stirred a figure that had been completely still until moments before. The figure, clad in rags as they all were, stepped forward as his cell door swung open. His keen eyes pierced the gloom of the holding block and gazed to the savaged body of the prison guard on the floor in front of his cell. A noise escaped his throat that surprised him. Was it mirth? He hadn't heard laughter in so long that the sound of it was foreign to his pointed ears. He suddenly wished to see himself in a mirror but then immediately retracted the desire. The figure had no doubts about the sad state of his appearance; he could see it in every haunted, tortured face in the holding block.
"Well...how very...blunt." The figure said as he strode forwards into the dim light. The newly freed prisoners beheld a tall shape; a lithe man up until the face. High cheekbones under a set of bright eyes and leaf shaped ears marked him as a wood elf. A rare sight in these parts to be sure.
"I dare say I could be handy in a fight, if it is a fight you are headed into." He continued as he bend down over the dead guard, ignoring the slowly spreading pool of blood coming from his ruined neck. The figure grabbed the dagger from the guard's belt and unsheathed it to check the blade.
"My name is Bel'aven but you may call me Bel if it is easier." Bel usually found that humans found shorter names easier to remember. "I am a sentinel of the wooded realm. If we can find my bow our escape is as good as bought." He said, nodding to Petor.
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Post by yumichi on Oct 14, 2014 15:03:11 GMT
The icy wind made Felan shiver, she was really cold and felt weak. She sat in the back corner of her prison cell, hiding. She kept a close look on the guards. She was really fearful of those guards, they always mocked her. But this time she was left alone and even got some bread. She felt so relieved when those faceless guards left.
Felan heard some sound coming from another cell, she stood up, she saw the warrior at the opposite side at the dark hallway. Did he just open his cell door? Felan curiously watched what he was going to do next, she couldn’t see it really good. The warrior was talking to some other prisoners. They just killed a guard. She felt a sparkle of hope again. “This hell coming to an end.” She whispered.
“Warrior Petor! Please take me with you. I could be handy in a fight, I used to be a scout. I can kill people without making any sounds and even without weapons.” Petor walked towards her cell and unlocked the door. Felan got out her cell and stepped into freedom. A very small brave young women, she suddenly felt much stronger and less scared. "Well, my name is Felan.” She said.
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coolyo294
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Post by coolyo294 on Oct 14, 2014 15:20:24 GMT
"Good to have you both with us." Petor said. He handed Felan the bloody shiv. "Sorry, but this will have to do until we get some real weapons."
Petor glanced up at the blue sprite who was now hovering near the ceiling. "Sprite, can you guide us to the storehouse?"
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Post by Lord Harrab on Oct 15, 2014 0:28:29 GMT
"What's a Store house?" The Sprite asked in response, bobbing slightly in the wind that still howled through the stone corridor.
"Whats?- Gods above, Its a room, a room with things in it, on racks and shelves."
"oh! I know of it!" the spite started to dance back and forth near the ceiling, its delight at being able to help obvious to see, "the Metal men go there a lot. Follow me!'
The sprite flew off down the corridor, pausing at a t junction for the prisoners to catch up. "the metal men don't like this part at night." the sprite said conversationally, "too cold. Most go to sleep or eat. But others go to the rack room and hurt the music woman. They want her to sing but use hot things and chains. That's not how music is born."
The Sprite paused as if thinking, "i don't understand these long rooms you folk use. Why have long rooms that do nothing but have metal men walk it? The rack room is this way."
the ball of light zoomed off down the right hand corridor, the prisoners following it as silent shadows. A right turn, then a left. Then anther right, then down some stairs, as they went further and further into the keep, the air became warmer but also noisier, the sound of heavy boots on stone warning them of patrols long before they in their rags could be detected. Along the way they passed many doors, some metal some wood, all either locked or blocked by rubble. Eventually the stone became less rough and more ornate, patterns and torch brackets became more common and the prison began to feel more like a civilised keep
That's was when they heard the scream.
it was one of pain and fear, the sound of a woman having her spirit and flesh tested by the cruelest torture.
"They make her hurt." the Sprite said sadly, "in the rack room. during the day she is gentle and kind. But the Metal men don't care. They want her to sing. But she sang for me without hot things."
It moved to a side passage, barred by a heavy looking door "here is where i found the door opener things. It does not have rack things that hurt, but boxes and metal things. I... I think that is what you meant. it is a place where they keep things taken from people like you. it is kept shut but there is a woman within, she is not kind. She fights the Metal men sometimes. She commands them but is not the one they fear. that one is not here."
The sprite shot up towards the ceiling and drifted towards where this corridor met another, " i will listen for metal men. You should get skin like theirs and things that hurt. They are bad people, so they should hurt."
The party has been lead to the storeroom where their things are kept, if you peer though the bars in the top of the doors you will notice it is a small storeroom filled with weapons and other belongings taken from all sorts of prisoners.
The Woman the Sprite mentioned is a Duelist (details in OOC thread) and she's sat at a desk on the other-side of the room opposite the door, her attention is on a ledger but the room is small and well lit. She will notice if the door is opened.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 15, 2014 1:46:31 GMT
Gareth looks around the group, "There is no way to sneak by this woman, let me take care of her." He says quietly, "Unless one of you has a better idea."
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coolyo294
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Post by coolyo294 on Oct 15, 2014 4:33:47 GMT
"Don't be ridiculous old man." Petor said. "No offense to your abilities, but you have no weapons and she'd gut you like a fish before you could get an incantation off. Let me handle her. I was my lord's champion during the war and I've challenged enough of these poncy duelists to know how they fight."
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