Well, you'd at least like to think it was unjust. Your stance on the justice of it all would be hotly debated by the constables or neddy men that rounded you up, old "Ironclad" Wickes, the judge that gave you your sentence, and just about everyone you've somehow offended along the way, which for some of you could be quite a long list. They don't know what they're talking about, anyways. Regardless of the exact events that led to you being imprisoned, you all arrived at the Ceiling Academy, as the prison of New Newgate is called by many, via the same vehicle. A great dirigible, which dumped all your worthless carcasses out on to the docks, from where you were shepherded toward the entrance of the prison by the dockers. At the entrance, each of you were given a prisoner's mask, which had to be fastened on to your face by a docker, since your hands and feet were bound by fetters. From there, you were no longer the dockers' problems.
A goaler, prods you along with an iron rod, occasionally grunting from behind the sack that covers its face. The shuffling thing somewhat resembles a human in form, but there's no way to exactly tell what it is, as every inch of skin is covered. It's certainly rather strong, and come morning you may have a few bruises on your backs from some of its more fierce prods. Each of you are directed to your cells, and the doors are slammed shut behind you. So begins your new life in New Newgate Prison, suspended a half-mile above the hungry peligin waters of the Unterzee. At least the view over Fallen London, the City of a Thousand Stories, is nice.
The Rogue's Gallery:
Tarkhan Turgensay - "The Banished Devotee" - Human Paladin
Croup - "The Murine Prince" - Rattus Faber Rogue
Herman "The Croaker" Hughes - "The Bespectacled Ringster" - Human Pugilist
Ezra - "The Carven Correspondent" - Clay Man Fighter
Damian Armstrong - "The Pallid Marksman" - Human Warlock
Tarkhan - You were caught sharing a bottle of mushroom-wine with a fellow suspected of having revolutionary dealings, the Radical Factotum. He managed to escape, but you were cornered by a gaggle of bloodthirsty Neddy Men, who gave you quite the beating before turning you in. Despite the lack of evidence against you, you were still given a relatively short sentence in New Newgate — just a couple of years. Most of your equipment has been confiscated. However, your coin pouch was left with you, since the Khaganian coinage within was deemed useless by the dockers who took your things. Luckily, this also means that your horsehead token and holy symbol, which you stored in there before you were arrested, also survived.
Croup - You didn't arrive the same way the others did. After all, people would more likely to beat a rattus faber over the head with a stick and throw it in Bugsby's Marshes rather than give it an actual trial — especially one of your prodigious size. Instead, you managed to hitch a ride on a dirigible heading towards New Newgate, and negotiated with one of the L.B. clans that call its walls their home to sneak you in. They requested that you leave your weapons while they escorted you through their cramped caverns, which seemed fair enough up until you finally exited the tunnels... straight into a vacant cell. Jeering, the rattus faber sealed off the entrance to the hole, leaving you weaponless, in no better situation than the rest of the prisoners around you. As a result of this you still have all of your starting equipment such as your armor and your money, but do not have your weapons and were not given a prisoner's mask.
Herman - Your trial was an interesting one, as the judge really had no idea what to charge you with. Regardless of that, you pleaded guilty, and Wickes wasn't going to argue with that. The dockers were rather put off by the fact that you really didn't have much at all on you, which was precisely the reason you were sent here by the Cheery Man in the first place. Because of this, they set out to take just about everything they could, just to prove a point. Still, you kept the clothes on your back, your pet bat, and the tool/gaming set that you started with.
Ezra - The Ministry of Public Decency came knocking immediately succeeding a particularly disastrous accident involving the Correspondence that resulted in your home half-going up in flames. The last you saw of Johann, he was running to the river, eyebrows ablaze. You hope that he managed to escape the Ministry, and pray for the swift recovery of his eyebrows. He was so very proud of them too, it's a d__n shame, really. Upon discovering you, the ministry at first attempted to simply scrub the sigils off your clay flesh, but were rather unsuccessful. You did feel cleaner than ever before, at the very least. Giving up at last, they decided to just throw you in prison and forget about the whole business. Your trial seemed to be going in your favor, especially when the prosecution's evidence file suddenly burst into flame, but a few whispers from a cloaked figure approaching the stand put an end to the whole business. Mr. Pages (you assume it was he) has quite a bountificous disapprobation for such pestilent and obstacudent language, and it ensured your swift imprisonment. Your weapons and armor were taken, but luckily you managed to sneak in a small hammer and chisel, and those are really the only two weapons someone of your vocation needs.
Damian - Your trial and imprisonment were a confusing whirlwind that you hardly understood, as you were still recovering from the events that succeeded your rather messy death. Those last words still echoed in your mind: "There must always be a Boatman." As a result of this, you didn't put up much of a defense, and were swiftly imprisoned. Your weaponry and armor was stripped from you, but you managed to sneak in your arcane focus under your tongue. It made it rather hard to talk, but the gaolers aren't great conversationalists anyways. Even if that was all that you managed to bring along, it didn't matter. Your gun has a way of finding its way back to you.
All your cells are located around midway up the Spike, on the western side, and are all next to each other. Tarkhan and Ezra are on the inner side of the curving corridor, and Croup, Herman, and Damian are all on the outer side, and have a window. All your cells are fairly barren, with a barred door that you can see relatively well through, a cushionless cot, and a hole in the corner that has precisely the purpose you think it does. You cannot see the bottom of it, and you assume it leads down to the oubliette. Now and again a gaoler shuffles through, occasionally running its metal rod along the bars.
Go ahead and introduce your characters, I'll move things along after a little while.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Herman Hughes, or rather Croaker in his current appearance, would look classy and rough and intimidating, but unfortuntely he has a mask on and a bag, and that is not very classy. The fancy spectacles stay on his face though, and the deep hazel eyes behind them have usually eyebags under as well. All denizens of this floor of the prison could hear him curse from time to time, hear the noises of his forehead slamming against the walls in boredom, and also very clearly grumbling about taking this job.
In this very moment, he is idly sitting by the wall and contemplating the reason why his forehead hurts so much, "Anybody here got any fun stories to tell?"
Temporary hp from Brace Up he does every morning 7
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
A hulking figure approaches the bars, resting blue-gray forearms against them as he leans down to peer through. You see a Clay Man, filling the space of his cell, his height well above seven feet.
"FUN STORIES, I DO NOT HAVE ANY, BUT WOULD LIKE TO HEAR A FUN STORY.", he speaks in a bassy rumble.
He strains against his shackles slightly, trying to get a sense of how sturdy they are.
Ezra, you're sure of one thing, and one thing only: these are shackles. Er, probably. They may actually be manacles. Or fetters? You're relatively sure there's no ball-and-chain here, but you could be mistaken. At last, you come to the conclusion that these are in fact gyves. Er, probably.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Ezra sighs and takes a seated position against the wall, stretching his legs out and rubbing absently at his forearms under his sleeves.
He peers out and sees the two humans and the rattus, but heard movement from the cell next to him as well.
((How loud is the prison? Any screams or yelling from other prisoners, or is it delightfully quiet? This far removed from Fallen London itself, this may be quieter than Erzra's home far below?))
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM:Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Croup contemplated this rather unforeseen element of his expedition to New Newgate, you should never trust a rat he thought to himself, they are all the same each and every one of the little blighters
He glanced across at the hole he’d stepped though earlier, thoroughly expecting his journey to be compete, but alas no and now the planned return journey was seemingly impossible
At least his hands and face were free of encumberment, he couldn’t bear his whiskers covered -that time he’d worn the face mask, just to get through that stinky sewer, had sent him into a blind panic - he couldn’t feel anything and had managed to get his butt stuck in a hole he’d judged poorly - too small it was - just as well Vandemar had been there to get him out.
Croup idly wondered how Vandermar had managed to escape this little debacle - he somehow always did - crafty bugger
As he heard one of the other occupants shout for a fun story, he started to laugh gently to himself
A fun story, he whined back, between soft chuckles, you should have seen the one that got away, he giggled a little more.
As he slept in his cell he dreamt of a dark beach cut by a silent river, and a slow bow crossing it. He dreamt of a cadaveric figure and his words. Oh, his words. They still echoed in his mind, clear as a day of summer in the world above. I don’t miss the sun anymore, he noticed waking in the floor of his cell. Somehow the idea surprised him, just as much as his first impression of the prison. From all the histories about the place, Damien expected something worse.
He had his own room, with iron bars and unforgivably damp, sure, and the goalers were less than pleasant with all their prodding but still much less cold and far safer than the streets. He wasn’t even stinking yet. Although in a month too this would change, he years as a beggar taught him as much. As he decided things could be much worse one of the closer inmates asked if they had any fun histories. He turned his back to the bars for a moment, took the crystal from his mouth, and hid it in his clothes.
“I’m afraid to be rather missing on this department.” He said turning to the bars, approaching them. A pale man, even for the Neath patterns. A tall figure with a tired expression, emaciated by hunger, sickness, or some combination of both. His hair was blond, flat and at shoulder length, his eyes blue and clear. Maybe he could have been beautiful if life had been gentler with him. “We could share what got us here.”
The large Clay Man lets the offer to share hang in the air for a few moments.
"WHERE SHOULD A STORY ABOUTWHAT GOT US HERE START? I WOULD NOT BE HERE IF I HAD NOT COME TO FALLEN LONDON, WHICH IF I HAD NOT LEFT POLYTHEME, WHICH IF I HAD NOT OPENED MY EYES TO THE WORLD... BUT THAT WOULD BE A VERY LONG STORY, AND I NO MORE WISH TO TAKE DAYS RECOUNTING WHAT BROUGHT ME TO THIS CELL, THAN I GUESS YOU WOULD WISH TO HEAR."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM:Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Croaker feels a bit fidgety in the moment. Spectacles are on, which means it is time for some spectacle. His knuckles should be bloody. He sighes softly and slams his forehead against the damp wall of the cell, letting out a chuckle at Erza talking, "Who are you lot anyways? Names, perhaps?" he carefully folded his spectacles and hung them by his collar, his voice a bit softer and less full now.
“Far from me to pry on the past of a fellow foreigner in this oh so fair city of London.” He referred to the Fifth City with palpable irony. No one there would think London fair. Not even those who actually deserved their place in New Newgate. There should be more than a few like that, he was sure. “But whatever you wish to tell I will be more than willing to hear. I have time for long histories and it’s not like we have anything better to do, either way.”
Time. The word made he wonder how long his sentence was. Should have paid more attention to the trial, he thought to himself despite knowing that it would make little difference. He didn’t understand the law beyond a few ways to break it. Besides, he had something bigger to occupy his mind.
“Well, I guess it’s only fair that I follow my own suggestion.”As Damien said before, it was not like he had anything better do. “Name’s Damien. Got caught smuggling and then got killed for it.” He said casually. Death was not always permanent on the Neath, after all. “Had the great fortune of coming back to life while the officers were still around and here I am now.” There were a few details missing. A few important details. But that was the general idea of what happened - he managed to have misfortune even when he had good luck. The history of my life, he admitted in his mind. “And what about the guy who got away?” He asked the chuckling Faber.
‘Indeed what about him?’Fabre responded, he always gets away and I’m always left carrying the can he thought to himself. ‘But I’m sure he will be back, he always is, he knows I shouldn’t be here, I’m here because of him, always searching, always seeking and always me that gets left behind’. He sighs “Smuggling you say, never good to get caught it changes it to theft, smugglers only smuggle when no one knows”
So he was left behind while searching for something that someone in power clearly didn’t want him to find. Damien thought, reading between the lines. Part of him was curious about what this thing could be. Maybe the two were thieves caught in the act. Maybe they were looking around for the secret of a noble, something serious enough to create a scandal and ruin an aristocrat’s reputation. The rich killed for less, Damien knew well enough. In the end he decided it didn’t matter, at least not for him. His interest was not enough to further pursue the matter.
“Not that in my current predicament I can really give advice to anyone, especially about activities that can put you behind bars.”He said respecting the way the Faber avoided speaking of the one who got away. “But you may want to review the terms of your partnership. You seem to be gaining less of it than your friend despite shouldering all the risks.”Besides, being left behind was reason enough to end the partnership but that was a thought he kept to himself. “And getting caught smuggling doesn’t change the crime, especially because smuggling is the worse of the two when it comes to punishment. At least I think it is, but you are right about when the smuggling is made. This time the higher ups messed things and the lower level,” He pointed to himself rather casually. No irritation for having ended behind bars. “Paid for that.”
That made he think about what happened to the others. Was someone else caught or killed? Maybe one of the guys had a game of dice of their own.
“Anyhow, what's your names?” He asked no one in particular, but waiting for the Flaber, and the other two men who spoke to answer.
"I WAS PICKED UP BY THE NEDDY WHEN MY RESIDENCE BURNED DOWN. THEY CALLED IT 'SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES', AND ROUNDED ME UP. DID NOT THINK THEY HAD CAUSE TO KEEP ME, BUT HERE I AM ALL THE SAME. IT'S QUIET HERE. I COULD GROW USED TO THIS... AT LEAST UNTIL BOREDOM SETS IN."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM:Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Tarkhan remains silent for several minutes, devoting himself to listening to the voices of those who have joined him in his unbelievable, unjust, and ridiculous circumstances. He shifts his arms and legs frequently in an effort to find a position that is moderately comfortable, but, thus far, he has been unsuccessful. His patience is beyond thin, and his willingness to trust anyone is at its nadir.
"I am Tarkhan, and, yes, I hail from the Khanate. If you'll not hold that fact against me, then I shall not hold the fact that you are not from the Khanate against you. So, hello to each of you, and, Ezra, our faces may be covered, but our ears are not. There's no need to yell."
"THIS IS MY FIRST TIME. HMMM... NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, I DO NOT RECALL THEM SAYING HOW LONG I HAD BEEN SENTENCED HERE... PERHAPS THEY MEAN TO LEAVE ME HERE."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM:Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Upon hearing the words anyone been here before?, Tarkhan casts a glance at the Rattus Faber.
Then turning his attention to Herman, he says, "Exiting the cell is one matter. Exiting New Newgate altogether is another. We either dive gloriously into the Zee far below us, or we stow ourselves away on one of those dirigibles that transported us here. But, exiting the cell is certainly our first order of business. We have our wits and, no doubt, the clay man's strength at our disposal."
After a thoughtful pause, Tarkhan finishes, "Oddly, I entered this place with a few personal possessions. Did anyone else have the same good fortune? What resources do we have at our disposal?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Unjustly Imprisoned!
Well, you'd at least like to think it was unjust. Your stance on the justice of it all would be hotly debated by the constables or neddy men that rounded you up, old "Ironclad" Wickes, the judge that gave you your sentence, and just about everyone you've somehow offended along the way, which for some of you could be quite a long list. They don't know what they're talking about, anyways. Regardless of the exact events that led to you being imprisoned, you all arrived at the Ceiling Academy, as the prison of New Newgate is called by many, via the same vehicle. A great dirigible, which dumped all your worthless carcasses out on to the docks, from where you were shepherded toward the entrance of the prison by the dockers. At the entrance, each of you were given a prisoner's mask, which had to be fastened on to your face by a docker, since your hands and feet were bound by fetters. From there, you were no longer the dockers' problems.
A goaler, prods you along with an iron rod, occasionally grunting from behind the sack that covers its face. The shuffling thing somewhat resembles a human in form, but there's no way to exactly tell what it is, as every inch of skin is covered. It's certainly rather strong, and come morning you may have a few bruises on your backs from some of its more fierce prods. Each of you are directed to your cells, and the doors are slammed shut behind you. So begins your new life in New Newgate Prison, suspended a half-mile above the hungry peligin waters of the Unterzee. At least the view over Fallen London, the City of a Thousand Stories, is nice.
The Rogue's Gallery:
Tarkhan Turgensay - "The Banished Devotee" - Human Paladin
Croup - "The Murine Prince" - Rattus Faber Rogue
Herman "The Croaker" Hughes - "The Bespectacled Ringster" - Human Pugilist
Ezra - "The Carven Correspondent" - Clay Man Fighter
Damian Armstrong - "The Pallid Marksman" - Human Warlock
Tarkhan - You were caught sharing a bottle of mushroom-wine with a fellow suspected of having revolutionary dealings, the Radical Factotum. He managed to escape, but you were cornered by a gaggle of bloodthirsty Neddy Men, who gave you quite the beating before turning you in. Despite the lack of evidence against you, you were still given a relatively short sentence in New Newgate — just a couple of years. Most of your equipment has been confiscated. However, your coin pouch was left with you, since the Khaganian coinage within was deemed useless by the dockers who took your things. Luckily, this also means that your horsehead token and holy symbol, which you stored in there before you were arrested, also survived.
Croup - You didn't arrive the same way the others did. After all, people would more likely to beat a rattus faber over the head with a stick and throw it in Bugsby's Marshes rather than give it an actual trial — especially one of your prodigious size. Instead, you managed to hitch a ride on a dirigible heading towards New Newgate, and negotiated with one of the L.B. clans that call its walls their home to sneak you in. They requested that you leave your weapons while they escorted you through their cramped caverns, which seemed fair enough up until you finally exited the tunnels... straight into a vacant cell. Jeering, the rattus faber sealed off the entrance to the hole, leaving you weaponless, in no better situation than the rest of the prisoners around you. As a result of this you still have all of your starting equipment such as your armor and your money, but do not have your weapons and were not given a prisoner's mask.
Herman - Your trial was an interesting one, as the judge really had no idea what to charge you with. Regardless of that, you pleaded guilty, and Wickes wasn't going to argue with that. The dockers were rather put off by the fact that you really didn't have much at all on you, which was precisely the reason you were sent here by the Cheery Man in the first place. Because of this, they set out to take just about everything they could, just to prove a point. Still, you kept the clothes on your back, your pet bat, and the tool/gaming set that you started with.
Ezra - The Ministry of Public Decency came knocking immediately succeeding a particularly disastrous accident involving the Correspondence that resulted in your home half-going up in flames. The last you saw of Johann, he was running to the river, eyebrows ablaze. You hope that he managed to escape the Ministry, and pray for the swift recovery of his eyebrows. He was so very proud of them too, it's a d__n shame, really. Upon discovering you, the ministry at first attempted to simply scrub the sigils off your clay flesh, but were rather unsuccessful. You did feel cleaner than ever before, at the very least. Giving up at last, they decided to just throw you in prison and forget about the whole business. Your trial seemed to be going in your favor, especially when the prosecution's evidence file suddenly burst into flame, but a few whispers from a cloaked figure approaching the stand put an end to the whole business. Mr. Pages (you assume it was he) has quite a bountificous disapprobation for such pestilent and obstacudent language, and it ensured your swift imprisonment. Your weapons and armor were taken, but luckily you managed to sneak in a small hammer and chisel, and those are really the only two weapons someone of your vocation needs.
Damian - Your trial and imprisonment were a confusing whirlwind that you hardly understood, as you were still recovering from the events that succeeded your rather messy death. Those last words still echoed in your mind: "There must always be a Boatman." As a result of this, you didn't put up much of a defense, and were swiftly imprisoned. Your weaponry and armor was stripped from you, but you managed to sneak in your arcane focus under your tongue. It made it rather hard to talk, but the gaolers aren't great conversationalists anyways. Even if that was all that you managed to bring along, it didn't matter. Your gun has a way of finding its way back to you.
All your cells are located around midway up the Spike, on the western side, and are all next to each other. Tarkhan and Ezra are on the inner side of the curving corridor, and Croup, Herman, and Damian are all on the outer side, and have a window. All your cells are fairly barren, with a barred door that you can see relatively well through, a cushionless cot, and a hole in the corner that has precisely the purpose you think it does. You cannot see the bottom of it, and you assume it leads down to the oubliette. Now and again a gaoler shuffles through, occasionally running its metal rod along the bars.
Go ahead and introduce your characters, I'll move things along after a little while.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Herman Hughes, or rather Croaker in his current appearance, would look classy and rough and intimidating, but unfortuntely he has a mask on and a bag, and that is not very classy. The fancy spectacles stay on his face though, and the deep hazel eyes behind them have usually eyebags under as well. All denizens of this floor of the prison could hear him curse from time to time, hear the noises of his forehead slamming against the walls in boredom, and also very clearly grumbling about taking this job.
In this very moment, he is idly sitting by the wall and contemplating the reason why his forehead hurts so much, "Anybody here got any fun stories to tell?"
Temporary hp from Brace Up he does every morning 7
A hulking figure approaches the bars, resting blue-gray forearms against them as he leans down to peer through. You see a Clay Man, filling the space of his cell, his height well above seven feet.
"FUN STORIES, I DO NOT HAVE ANY, BUT WOULD LIKE TO HEAR A FUN STORY.", he speaks in a bassy rumble.
He strains against his shackles slightly, trying to get a sense of how sturdy they are.
[Investigation: 18 ]
DM: Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Active Characters:
Breldo, Halfling Ranger | Kathryn, Wood Elf Rogue/Ranger | Kroshav, Dragonborn Paladin | T'laren Farsiel, Wood Elf Fighter | Trill, Kenku Bard | Val "Janellae", Mark of Shadow Elf Warlock
Ezra, you're sure of one thing, and one thing only: these are shackles. Er, probably. They may actually be manacles. Or fetters? You're relatively sure there's no ball-and-chain here, but you could be mistaken. At last, you come to the conclusion that these are in fact gyves. Er, probably.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Ezra sighs and takes a seated position against the wall, stretching his legs out and rubbing absently at his forearms under his sleeves.
He peers out and sees the two humans and the rattus, but heard movement from the cell next to him as well.
((How loud is the prison? Any screams or yelling from other prisoners, or is it delightfully quiet? This far removed from Fallen London itself, this may be quieter than Erzra's home far below?))
DM: Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Active Characters:
Breldo, Halfling Ranger | Kathryn, Wood Elf Rogue/Ranger | Kroshav, Dragonborn Paladin | T'laren Farsiel, Wood Elf Fighter | Trill, Kenku Bard | Val "Janellae", Mark of Shadow Elf Warlock
Croup contemplated this rather unforeseen element of his expedition to New Newgate, you should never trust a rat he thought to himself, they are all the same each and every one of the little blighters
He glanced across at the hole he’d stepped though earlier, thoroughly expecting his journey to be compete, but alas no and now the planned return journey was seemingly impossible
At least his hands and face were free of encumberment, he couldn’t bear his whiskers covered -that time he’d worn the face mask, just to get through that stinky sewer, had sent him into a blind panic - he couldn’t feel anything and had managed to get his butt stuck in a hole he’d judged poorly - too small it was - just as well Vandemar had been there to get him out.
Croup idly wondered how Vandermar had managed to escape this little debacle - he somehow always did - crafty bugger
As he heard one of the other occupants shout for a fun story, he started to laugh gently to himself
A fun story, he whined back, between soft chuckles, you should have seen the one that got away, he giggled a little more.
The prison is blessedly silent, for the time being. Nothing but dripping and the mostly quiet sounds of Ezra's fellow prisoners.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
As he slept in his cell he dreamt of a dark beach cut by a silent river, and a slow bow crossing it. He dreamt of a cadaveric figure and his words. Oh, his words. They still echoed in his mind, clear as a day of summer in the world above. I don’t miss the sun anymore, he noticed waking in the floor of his cell. Somehow the idea surprised him, just as much as his first impression of the prison. From all the histories about the place, Damien expected something worse.
He had his own room, with iron bars and unforgivably damp, sure, and the goalers were less than pleasant with all their prodding but still much less cold and far safer than the streets. He wasn’t even stinking yet. Although in a month too this would change, he years as a beggar taught him as much. As he decided things could be much worse one of the closer inmates asked if they had any fun histories. He turned his back to the bars for a moment, took the crystal from his mouth, and hid it in his clothes.
“I’m afraid to be rather missing on this department.” He said turning to the bars, approaching them. A pale man, even for the Neath patterns. A tall figure with a tired expression, emaciated by hunger, sickness, or some combination of both. His hair was blond, flat and at shoulder length, his eyes blue and clear. Maybe he could have been beautiful if life had been gentler with him. “We could share what got us here.”
The large Clay Man lets the offer to share hang in the air for a few moments.
"WHERE SHOULD A STORY ABOUTWHAT GOT US HERE START? I WOULD NOT BE HERE IF I HAD NOT COME TO FALLEN LONDON, WHICH IF I HAD NOT LEFT POLYTHEME, WHICH IF I HAD NOT OPENED MY EYES TO THE WORLD... BUT THAT WOULD BE A VERY LONG STORY, AND I NO MORE WISH TO TAKE DAYS RECOUNTING WHAT BROUGHT ME TO THIS CELL, THAN I GUESS YOU WOULD WISH TO HEAR."
DM: Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Active Characters:
Breldo, Halfling Ranger | Kathryn, Wood Elf Rogue/Ranger | Kroshav, Dragonborn Paladin | T'laren Farsiel, Wood Elf Fighter | Trill, Kenku Bard | Val "Janellae", Mark of Shadow Elf Warlock
Croaker feels a bit fidgety in the moment. Spectacles are on, which means it is time for some spectacle. His knuckles should be bloody. He sighes softly and slams his forehead against the damp wall of the cell, letting out a chuckle at Erza talking, "Who are you lot anyways? Names, perhaps?" he carefully folded his spectacles and hung them by his collar, his voice a bit softer and less full now.
“Far from me to pry on the past of a fellow foreigner in this oh so fair city of London.” He referred to the Fifth City with palpable irony. No one there would think London fair. Not even those who actually deserved their place in New Newgate. There should be more than a few like that, he was sure. “But whatever you wish to tell I will be more than willing to hear. I have time for long histories and it’s not like we have anything better to do, either way.”
Time. The word made he wonder how long his sentence was. Should have paid more attention to the trial, he thought to himself despite knowing that it would make little difference. He didn’t understand the law beyond a few ways to break it. Besides, he had something bigger to occupy his mind.
“Well, I guess it’s only fair that I follow my own suggestion.” As Damien said before, it was not like he had anything better do. “Name’s Damien. Got caught smuggling and then got killed for it.” He said casually. Death was not always permanent on the Neath, after all. “Had the great fortune of coming back to life while the officers were still around and here I am now.” There were a few details missing. A few important details. But that was the general idea of what happened - he managed to have misfortune even when he had good luck. The history of my life, he admitted in his mind. “And what about the guy who got away?” He asked the chuckling Faber.
‘Indeed what about him?’ Fabre responded, he always gets away and I’m always left carrying the can he thought to himself. ‘But I’m sure he will be back, he always is, he knows I shouldn’t be here, I’m here because of him, always searching, always seeking and always me that gets left behind’. He sighs “Smuggling you say, never good to get caught it changes it to theft, smugglers only smuggle when no one knows”
So he was left behind while searching for something that someone in power clearly didn’t want him to find. Damien thought, reading between the lines. Part of him was curious about what this thing could be. Maybe the two were thieves caught in the act. Maybe they were looking around for the secret of a noble, something serious enough to create a scandal and ruin an aristocrat’s reputation. The rich killed for less, Damien knew well enough. In the end he decided it didn’t matter, at least not for him. His interest was not enough to further pursue the matter.
“Not that in my current predicament I can really give advice to anyone, especially about activities that can put you behind bars.” He said respecting the way the Faber avoided speaking of the one who got away. “But you may want to review the terms of your partnership. You seem to be gaining less of it than your friend despite shouldering all the risks.” Besides, being left behind was reason enough to end the partnership but that was a thought he kept to himself. “And getting caught smuggling doesn’t change the crime, especially because smuggling is the worse of the two when it comes to punishment. At least I think it is, but you are right about when the smuggling is made. This time the higher ups messed things and the lower level,” He pointed to himself rather casually. No irritation for having ended behind bars. “Paid for that.”
That made he think about what happened to the others. Was someone else caught or killed? Maybe one of the guys had a game of dice of their own.
“Anyhow, what's your names?” He asked no one in particular, but waiting for the Flaber, and the other two men who spoke to answer.
"YOU MAY CALL ME EZRA."
"I WAS PICKED UP BY THE NEDDY WHEN MY RESIDENCE BURNED DOWN. THEY CALLED IT 'SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES', AND ROUNDED ME UP. DID NOT THINK THEY HAD CAUSE TO KEEP ME, BUT HERE I AM ALL THE SAME. IT'S QUIET HERE. I COULD GROW USED TO THIS... AT LEAST UNTIL BOREDOM SETS IN."
DM: Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Active Characters:
Breldo, Halfling Ranger | Kathryn, Wood Elf Rogue/Ranger | Kroshav, Dragonborn Paladin | T'laren Farsiel, Wood Elf Fighter | Trill, Kenku Bard | Val "Janellae", Mark of Shadow Elf Warlock
Tarkhan remains silent for several minutes, devoting himself to listening to the voices of those who have joined him in his unbelievable, unjust, and ridiculous circumstances. He shifts his arms and legs frequently in an effort to find a position that is moderately comfortable, but, thus far, he has been unsuccessful. His patience is beyond thin, and his willingness to trust anyone is at its nadir.
"I am Tarkhan, and, yes, I hail from the Khanate. If you'll not hold that fact against me, then I shall not hold the fact that you are not from the Khanate against you. So, hello to each of you, and, Ezra, our faces may be covered, but our ears are not. There's no need to yell."
"I FORGET HOW DELICATE HUMAN EARS CAN BE. IS THIS MORE SUITABLE?"
((It sounds the same, a low bassy rumble you can feel in your chest.))
DM: Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Active Characters:
Breldo, Halfling Ranger | Kathryn, Wood Elf Rogue/Ranger | Kroshav, Dragonborn Paladin | T'laren Farsiel, Wood Elf Fighter | Trill, Kenku Bard | Val "Janellae", Mark of Shadow Elf Warlock
"Loudness and levity," muses Tarkhan. "Things are looking up already."
"I'm Herman. Your voice is lovely, Erza," he snickers to himself, "Anyway, are we ever getting out of these cells? Anyone been here before?"
"THIS IS MY FIRST TIME. HMMM... NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, I DO NOT RECALL THEM SAYING HOW LONG I HAD BEEN SENTENCED HERE... PERHAPS THEY MEAN TO LEAVE ME HERE."
DM: Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Active Characters:
Breldo, Halfling Ranger | Kathryn, Wood Elf Rogue/Ranger | Kroshav, Dragonborn Paladin | T'laren Farsiel, Wood Elf Fighter | Trill, Kenku Bard | Val "Janellae", Mark of Shadow Elf Warlock
Upon hearing the words anyone been here before?, Tarkhan casts a glance at the Rattus Faber.
Then turning his attention to Herman, he says, "Exiting the cell is one matter. Exiting New Newgate altogether is another. We either dive gloriously into the Zee far below us, or we stow ourselves away on one of those dirigibles that transported us here. But, exiting the cell is certainly our first order of business. We have our wits and, no doubt, the clay man's strength at our disposal."
After a thoughtful pause, Tarkhan finishes, "Oddly, I entered this place with a few personal possessions. Did anyone else have the same good fortune? What resources do we have at our disposal?"