Years of smuggling had taught Damien to use his words as weapons. To persuade a client to buy, to intimidate a debtor into paying and to beguile the eyes of some curious or, more rarely, competent figure of authority. It had also taught him that not always words were enough. Fortunately for him, that was not the case when it come to the clay man. The insinuation of an unending sentence motivated the clay to return his focus to working in an escape plan. That was a shot in the dark, he tough imagining what could happen if Ezra had some kind of noble patron. But then, my eyes are used to the darkness now. That he had always been a good shot.
The work on the stone was soon interrupted, by the approaching of an officer and his two gaolers. The man was fast to poke Damien who limited himself to keep hos head down and his mouth shut. He had no idea what was the Thing, but more importantly, he couldn’t imagine someone actually trying to seduce a gaoler. Well, to each his own. He said with the voice of his mind, ready to follow wherever the burly man leaded the group.
Tarkhan moves along silently, resigning himself, for now anyway, to be as cooperative and inconspicuous as possible. He makes a quick study of the other new arrivals, wondering what is in store for all of them in the days ahead.
The Burly Officer and his guards lead the small procession of prisoners along the hallway as more file down from the second layer of cells above. After a short bit, the group reaches a large door, which the Burly Officer unlocks, and you are all ushered into a much larger room, which is currently empty aside from a few gaolers. You mill about for a few moments before a terrible clanging sound can be heard from behind a large steel door in the northern side of the room.
The Warden
After much poking and prodding from the gaolers and yelling from the Burly Officer, you are all organized into three haphazard rows, standing before a sort of podium. Suddenly, the great steel door swings open and a neatly-dressed fellow accompanied by two officers steps forth, taking his place on the podium, looking down at you all. He wears a regal expression, and he surveys his new charges with a sort of half-smile on his weathered, whiskered face. At last, he speaks.
"Welcome, all," he begins, raising his arms, "to New Newgate prison. This will be your home for the foreseeable future, so I do hope you make yourselves comfortable. I would like to take this moment to lay down a few ground rules, and to give you an idea of what your life here will be like. But first, allow me to introduce myself. I am the Warden. You may call me Warden, Mr. Warden, O Great Warden, Most Estimable and Merciful Warden, or any other similar form of address of your choosing. Ideally, though, you will never have to address me at all, because if you meet me again between now and your time of release it means that you have either done something very, very good, or something very, very bad."
With this, the Warden's pleasant expression twists briefly into a dreadful glower, before returning to its previous arrangement. "Now, allow me to instruct you on how this prison works. You will soon have the supreme pleasure of meeting the rest of your fellow inmates on this level, who will enter soon for lunch. You've all been called here early for orientation. When the others do arrive, I must ask — and this is one of the most important rules here at New Newgate, so listen closely — that you please not stab anyone or get stabbed. I don't care how much they deserved it, you'll get a stick to the head either way. Those who make a habit of deplorable behavior will earn one of a number of punishments, be it the lash, the treadmill, solitary confinement, or the oubliette. You don't want to be set to work in the oubliette. Prisoners will be free to take up a number of jobs, and may use the money earned on a number of luxuries. Good behavior and hard work may even be rewarded with a reduction in your sentence, if I am feeling so inclined.
"During free time you will be allowed to wander the level, so long as you stay out of restricted areas. The place is yours to roam, but whatever you do, for God's sake, don't walk the halls alone. I've got enough inmates stabbing each other already, I don't want to deal with... other complications. Don't worry too much, you're only on level nine. The lower levels are reserved for the more dangerous sorts, the people up here have at most only killed one person. Sometimes two. Permanently, that is, temporary killers abound just about everywhere here. At least they're mostly very polite about it." The Warden stops abruptly, pulling a timepiece out of his pocket. "Oh, heavens, I'm just about out of time. Direct any further questions you may have to Officers Bagstock and Barnes."
The Warden swiftly departs through the great metal door, and soon that terrible crashing can be heard again. The two officers he indicated remain behind, glaring down at you all. The one named Bagstock is terribly rotund, with only a single lock of hair remaining on his shiny bald head. Barnes, on the other hand, is tall and thin, and has both the appearance and pale complexion of a stalk of wheat.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Damien didn’t like the warden. His expression, his clothes, his words. Everything implied a sense of self importance not in the slightly congruent with the fact that he was the administrator of a prison. The man dressed like an aristocrat and made the orientation a spectacle for him to show his power. Not that impressive when the audience have no option but stay, he thought to himself ruminating what the older men said. If I am feeling so inclined, an empty promise. Other complications. So there was something dangerous on that level of the prison. One that the old timer didn’t want to talk about, but that was still big enough to occupy his mind. He is unable to solve it, and that meant they were under threat, that the faster the escape happened the better.
“Pardon me, sir.”He says to the officials. “Are we allowed to get our lunch?”
He hoped so. This way he could speak with the others away from the guards ears. He needed to make sure they all understood how more pressing their escape was. Especially Ezra. The clay man good very well believe that staying put and working to reduce his sentence was better than trying to break free.
Waiting for the answer, Damien tried to focus in remembering how much time it took from the dirigibles to his cell. If he had as much as rough idea of that he would know how much time would ne necessary for the group would need to make the reverse way.
Croup coughed - god how he hated self important people, regress of their job role - but he recognised the need to be useful.
Gentleman, he addressed Bagstock and Barnes, if I may be of help, you see we’ve not eaten for days and we all - he gestures towards the other inmates, would welcome the opportunity to work but given our stomachs are so empty we may be of little use until refuelled, may I suggest we perhaps have a few nibbles and then we could take our pick of the chores.
He bowed in what he hoped would be seen as a conciliatory manner!
"Hey," replies Bagstock, "who the Hell let a rat in here? Damn things are—" He is cut off by the tolling of a bell, and another screeching of metal, this time much louder, seemingly from multiple sources. The great door in the north once again swings open, this time staying open, and a flood of weary prisoners trudge forth, clothes stained, sodden, or covered in dust. A series of windows opens up on the east side of the room, behind which a kitchen can be visible. Other prisoners also work within, seemingly not quite off work yet. The prisoners line up, and begin receiving plates of gruel, mash, slop, and other such unappetizing and mysterious substances. In the chaos, Bagstock seemingly forgets about Croup, and waves everyone forward to receive their meals. You all (assumedly) get in line and receive your meals, except for Ezra, who would be rudely denied a meal if he attempted to get one. Prisoners begin sitting in groups around the various tables in the room, and space is quickly disappearing.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Tarkhan is mildly amused by the irony of Barnes' response to Damien. "Patience is a burden to be carried by prisoners, but not by officers," he muses aloud (and to no one in particular) in Hudum.
After procuring his tray of gruemashlop, Tarkhan makes for a table that has room for himself and the others--the clay man, the rat, the smuggler, and the fellow with the spectacles. Hoping to draw minimal attention to himself as he does so, Tarkhan motions for the others to enjoy their first prison meal at his table.
Assuming they're able--or willing--to break bread as a group, Tarkhan explains, "In a place such as this, it is wise to establish that one is not alone. There is a strength in numbers, yes?"
Croup joins Tarkhan and eyes his plate of slops somewhat suspiciously
“I’m never alone you know, Vandermar will be somewhere around here, I just need to figure out where exactly….”
He lifts the bowl to his mouth and slurps cautiously then with increased gusto ….. “not bad, not bad at all, but then I think rat always tastes pretty good when cooked for a few hours” ….. he chuckles and continues to devour the rank looking liquid
"Vandermar, eh? It's good to have friends in high places, I suppose," remarks Tarkhan.
As Croup slurps down his food, Tarkhan simultaneously takes a small bite of the non-descript, room-temperature mush on his tray. The rattus faber's quip about the taste of cooked rat is timed perfectly. Tarkhan erupts into a brief fit of laughter and spews his food out of his mouth as he does so.
At the sight of Tarkhan spewing his food across the table, followed by a fit of uncontrollable laughter, Croup’s chuckle also become a hearty laugh, laughter he thought is certainly the best medicine in an unpredictable situation and this new acquaintance seemed to have it in plenty
Once he’d regained his composure , he figured finding out a little more about the why’s of his colleagues incarceration might be of interest
”I listened to you speaking earlier, it seemed you may have been here before, do you mind sharing how you came to be here as any tactics to thrive would be appreciated”, he hesitated a second before adding “Of course I shouldn’t be here at all, it’s all one big misunderstanding you see, at least I’m fairly sure of it”
Herman was itching for a fight, but that could possibly put his new acquaintances in danger as well. Not that he cared for them already, they just needed one another. Herman rolled his shoulders and giggled weakly at the joke and the reaction to it, his eyes running through the space in hopes of noticing a weasely looking guy with big ears and a shifty smile. The purpose of his task here was still not entirely clear to him, so with more rules added, he'd need more structure to plan his steps out properly. "Say, if we start a brawl and bolt, assuming we know the schedule of the dirigibles, I doubt anyone will stop us, right?"
“A fight” squeaked back Croup, almost choking on his rat stew, “I don’t really do fighting, I find it’s not great for the constitution, I’m more sneaking and spying and darting and dancing”, he jiggles like a court jester on his chair - “maybe I could help in some other way, like ….. watching your back?”
Maybe he would have been offended if he didn’t expect the exact reaction Barnes showed. More often than not law enforcers were small tyrants. Frustrated people who felt the necessity to exert whatever little power they managed to acquire upon those that by circumstance are under their jurisdiction. Their sense of self-importance managed to be laughable to beggars and criminals, Damien knew as much from experience. Either way, he took from the barking officer an answer - they had to wait for the others. The negative was a blessing in disguise, he noticed remembering how Ezra used to speak.
He got in line and took food almost mechanically. Years in the streets have made him many things, but a picky eater was definitely not one of them. As he sat with the rest of his unlikely group he watched as conversation started, Herman suggesting they used a brawl as distraction to escape, after learning the timing of the dirigibles. A suggestion that didn’t heighten Croup’s spirits. At least none of them bought the warden’s shite.
“First, Ezra, try to not speak about our plans while around here.” He said to the clay man in an attempt to avoid his shouting about their conspiration. “Then, I’m not sure this is a good idea. The brawl would attract more guards, make us have to slip through more eyes to reach the goal and we would still be chained. If we are caught in the fight not only we’ll be unable to proceed, but we may be separated for punishment. Less numbers, less strength”
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
As the warden departs and the other inmates file in, Ezra sits on the ground near one of the tables as his fellow cell block mates line up for food, raising a hand when they make it through the line, as if he would be hard to miss, even seated on the floor, his head is at easy conversation height for those sitting when they join him.
"I DO NOT REQUIRE FOOD, IT IS DOUBTFUL THAT THEY WOULD GIVE ME ANY, THOUGH IF ANY OF YOU WISH A SECOND HELPING OF... RAT STEW, I AM WILLING TO INQUIRE."
Otherwise he keeps quiet and tries not to draw the attention of the guards, but listens carefully to his fellow's discussions.
((Are there any other Clay Men among the other prisoners? How is his presence being received by the other inmates? Insight: 11))
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM:Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Looking about, Ezra actually notices quite a few other Clay Men, here and there. Many of them look Unfinished, missing an ear, or a finger, or a larger part of their body. People mostly ignore Ezra, besides the occasional pointing and sneering at the newcomers.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Ezra tucks away his tools, and scoots any debris from his efforts down the waste hole. He exits slowly and ploddingly.
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 joined the line of new acquaintances, this was getting interesting, he hummed quietly to himself
Years of smuggling had taught Damien to use his words as weapons. To persuade a client to buy, to intimidate a debtor into paying and to beguile the eyes of some curious or, more rarely, competent figure of authority. It had also taught him that not always words were enough. Fortunately for him, that was not the case when it come to the clay man. The insinuation of an unending sentence motivated the clay to return his focus to working in an escape plan. That was a shot in the dark, he tough imagining what could happen if Ezra had some kind of noble patron. But then, my eyes are used to the darkness now. That he had always been a good shot.
The work on the stone was soon interrupted, by the approaching of an officer and his two gaolers. The man was fast to poke Damien who limited himself to keep hos head down and his mouth shut. He had no idea what was the Thing, but more importantly, he couldn’t imagine someone actually trying to seduce a gaoler. Well, to each his own. He said with the voice of his mind, ready to follow wherever the burly man leaded the group.
Tarkhan moves along silently, resigning himself, for now anyway, to be as cooperative and inconspicuous as possible. He makes a quick study of the other new arrivals, wondering what is in store for all of them in the days ahead.
The Burly Officer and his guards lead the small procession of prisoners along the hallway as more file down from the second layer of cells above. After a short bit, the group reaches a large door, which the Burly Officer unlocks, and you are all ushered into a much larger room, which is currently empty aside from a few gaolers. You mill about for a few moments before a terrible clanging sound can be heard from behind a large steel door in the northern side of the room.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Damien didn’t like the warden. His expression, his clothes, his words. Everything implied a sense of self importance not in the slightly congruent with the fact that he was the administrator of a prison. The man dressed like an aristocrat and made the orientation a spectacle for him to show his power. Not that impressive when the audience have no option but stay, he thought to himself ruminating what the older men said. If I am feeling so inclined, an empty promise. Other complications. So there was something dangerous on that level of the prison. One that the old timer didn’t want to talk about, but that was still big enough to occupy his mind. He is unable to solve it, and that meant they were under threat, that the faster the escape happened the better.
“Pardon me, sir.” He says to the officials. “Are we allowed to get our lunch?”
He hoped so. This way he could speak with the others away from the guards ears. He needed to make sure they all understood how more pressing their escape was. Especially Ezra. The clay man good very well believe that staying put and working to reduce his sentence was better than trying to break free.
Waiting for the answer, Damien tried to focus in remembering how much time it took from the dirigibles to his cell. If he had as much as rough idea of that he would know how much time would ne necessary for the group would need to make the reverse way.
"Jobs," whispers Tarkhan to himself. "Those may serve me very well in finding the weaknesses of this cage."
He makes it a priority to learn of job opportunities, but he now waits to see how Bagstock or Barnes will respond to Damien's query.
"That's 'officer' to you," barks Barnes, "and you can have some damned patience, or you won't be eating at all."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Croup coughed - god how he hated self important people, regress of their job role - but he recognised the need to be useful.
Gentleman, he addressed Bagstock and Barnes, if I may be of help, you see we’ve not eaten for days and we all - he gestures towards the other inmates, would welcome the opportunity to work but given our stomachs are so empty we may be of little use until refuelled, may I suggest we perhaps have a few nibbles and then we could take our pick of the chores.
He bowed in what he hoped would be seen as a conciliatory manner!
"Hey," replies Bagstock, "who the Hell let a rat in here? Damn things are—" He is cut off by the tolling of a bell, and another screeching of metal, this time much louder, seemingly from multiple sources. The great door in the north once again swings open, this time staying open, and a flood of weary prisoners trudge forth, clothes stained, sodden, or covered in dust. A series of windows opens up on the east side of the room, behind which a kitchen can be visible. Other prisoners also work within, seemingly not quite off work yet. The prisoners line up, and begin receiving plates of gruel, mash, slop, and other such unappetizing and mysterious substances. In the chaos, Bagstock seemingly forgets about Croup, and waves everyone forward to receive their meals. You all (assumedly) get in line and receive your meals, except for Ezra, who would be rudely denied a meal if he attempted to get one. Prisoners begin sitting in groups around the various tables in the room, and space is quickly disappearing.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Tarkhan is mildly amused by the irony of Barnes' response to Damien. "Patience is a burden to be carried by prisoners, but not by officers," he muses aloud (and to no one in particular) in Hudum.
After procuring his tray of gruemashlop, Tarkhan makes for a table that has room for himself and the others--the clay man, the rat, the smuggler, and the fellow with the spectacles. Hoping to draw minimal attention to himself as he does so, Tarkhan motions for the others to enjoy their first prison meal at his table.
Assuming they're able--or willing--to break bread as a group, Tarkhan explains, "In a place such as this, it is wise to establish that one is not alone. There is a strength in numbers, yes?"
Croup joins Tarkhan and eyes his plate of slops somewhat suspiciously
“I’m never alone you know, Vandermar will be somewhere around here, I just need to figure out where exactly….”
He lifts the bowl to his mouth and slurps cautiously then with increased gusto ….. “not bad, not bad at all, but then I think rat always tastes pretty good when cooked for a few hours” ….. he chuckles and continues to devour the rank looking liquid
"Vandermar, eh? It's good to have friends in high places, I suppose," remarks Tarkhan.
As Croup slurps down his food, Tarkhan simultaneously takes a small bite of the non-descript, room-temperature mush on his tray. The rattus faber's quip about the taste of cooked rat is timed perfectly. Tarkhan erupts into a brief fit of laughter and spews his food out of his mouth as he does so.
At the sight of Tarkhan spewing his food across the table, followed by a fit of uncontrollable laughter, Croup’s chuckle also become a hearty laugh, laughter he thought is certainly the best medicine in an unpredictable situation and this new acquaintance seemed to have it in plenty
Once he’d regained his composure , he figured finding out a little more about the why’s of his colleagues incarceration might be of interest
”I listened to you speaking earlier, it seemed you may have been here before, do you mind sharing how you came to be here as any tactics to thrive would be appreciated”, he hesitated a second before adding “Of course I shouldn’t be here at all, it’s all one big misunderstanding you see, at least I’m fairly sure of it”
Herman was itching for a fight, but that could possibly put his new acquaintances in danger as well. Not that he cared for them already, they just needed one another. Herman rolled his shoulders and giggled weakly at the joke and the reaction to it, his eyes running through the space in hopes of noticing a weasely looking guy with big ears and a shifty smile. The purpose of his task here was still not entirely clear to him, so with more rules added, he'd need more structure to plan his steps out properly. "Say, if we start a brawl and bolt, assuming we know the schedule of the dirigibles, I doubt anyone will stop us, right?"
“A fight” squeaked back Croup, almost choking on his rat stew, “I don’t really do fighting, I find it’s not great for the constitution, I’m more sneaking and spying and darting and dancing”, he jiggles like a court jester on his chair - “maybe I could help in some other way, like ….. watching your back?”
Maybe he would have been offended if he didn’t expect the exact reaction Barnes showed. More often than not law enforcers were small tyrants. Frustrated people who felt the necessity to exert whatever little power they managed to acquire upon those that by circumstance are under their jurisdiction. Their sense of self-importance managed to be laughable to beggars and criminals, Damien knew as much from experience. Either way, he took from the barking officer an answer - they had to wait for the others. The negative was a blessing in disguise, he noticed remembering how Ezra used to speak.
He got in line and took food almost mechanically. Years in the streets have made him many things, but a picky eater was definitely not one of them. As he sat with the rest of his unlikely group he watched as conversation started, Herman suggesting they used a brawl as distraction to escape, after learning the timing of the dirigibles. A suggestion that didn’t heighten Croup’s spirits. At least none of them bought the warden’s shite.
“First, Ezra, try to not speak about our plans while around here.” He said to the clay man in an attempt to avoid his shouting about their conspiration. “Then, I’m not sure this is a good idea. The brawl would attract more guards, make us have to slip through more eyes to reach the goal and we would still be chained. If we are caught in the fight not only we’ll be unable to proceed, but we may be separated for punishment. Less numbers, less strength”
As the warden departs and the other inmates file in, Ezra sits on the ground near one of the tables as his fellow cell block mates line up for food, raising a hand when they make it through the line, as if he would be hard to miss, even seated on the floor, his head is at easy conversation height for those sitting when they join him.
"I DO NOT REQUIRE FOOD, IT IS DOUBTFUL THAT THEY WOULD GIVE ME ANY, THOUGH IF ANY OF YOU WISH A SECOND HELPING OF... RAT STEW, I AM WILLING TO INQUIRE."
Otherwise he keeps quiet and tries not to draw the attention of the guards, but listens carefully to his fellow's discussions.
((Are there any other Clay Men among the other prisoners? How is his presence being received by the other inmates? Insight: 11))
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
Looking about, Ezra actually notices quite a few other Clay Men, here and there. Many of them look Unfinished, missing an ear, or a finger, or a larger part of their body. People mostly ignore Ezra, besides the occasional pointing and sneering at the newcomers.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
He's quite happy to be ignored, and returns the favor.
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