Paths of Legend: Paths of Madness (IC)

Clang

Clang

Clang

Clang

Clang

Clang

The toll of the execution bell. One ring for each offense. One ring, accompanied by a scream. One ring for each spell of pain inflicted on the prisoner, a torture spell designed to inflict little damage but cause excruciating pain. Then, death.

That is what awaits the prisoners below the execution yard. In two days time, it will be their turn. Some await it stoically, others fearfully. None yet know just how many times their bell will toll. The Red Wizards don't divulge that information until the prisoner is already in the execution yard, awaiting their sentence.

Today's execution was of a man accused of breaking in to a Red Wizard's home and stealing a magic item. Some of the prisoners now awaiting execution were accused of offenses far worse than that.

Bree Firewalker. Emiran, which puts her at odds with her Thayvian captors already. Accused of espionage. Usually ten tolls

Dremis Lightfoot. A halfling accused of theft from a Red Wizard. Usually six tolls.

Evan Butler. One of the paragons, an elite soldier created by the Red Wizards. Accused of murder...and treason. Usually 15 tolls.

The mysteriously named Seventeen. A human of indeterminate nationality. Accused of espionage. Usually ten tolls.

Grellus Red, an ogre. Accused of murder and banditry. Usually ten tolls.

A human girl who refuses any other name but Shard. Accused of sedition. Usually six tolls.

Steise, seemingly human, but perhaps something more. Accused of assault and intent to harm the interests of a Red Wizard. Usually four tolls.

A nameless Duergar. Crimes unknown.

Xoan, another human of indeterminate origin who may be something more. Accused of assault and sedition. Usually seven tolls.

Dace Bloodhoof, a minotaur. Accused of murder. Usually eight tolls.

Varon Meyer, a wizard from Azgund. Accused of espionage and sedition. Usually twelve tolls.

A gnome, gibbering with madness. None had yet learned his name or his crimes.

And, from the isolation chamber, the oubliette, the prisoners heard moans at night, as if the prisoner thrown down there weeks ago and forgotten by the guards still stirred. But no one could survive isolation that long...

The Mad Ravings of the Gnome

That night, as the prisoners partake of their evening meal in their cells, a thin broth and a piece of stale bread, the gnome's ramblings echo through the cell block, as they usually do. But there is a different tone to it now, something sane amidst the lunacy.

"Strong ogre, yes. Strong minotaur, yes. But not strong enough for enchanted cell doors, no. But, could be...the shadow below, yes. The shadow below can get the key. The key to suppress the magic, yes. Lots of guards, yes. But, One Mind is all we need, yes. Get past the guards says the One Mind. Stealth and thievery needed to get things, past belongings, yes. Then, then there is the long, dark path. The way above will surely be re-caught. No, go down, down, down into the dark, into the secret places, the lost places. That way lies freedom...and more. So much more."

Bree listened intently to the words of the mad gnome. She tries to piece together what she can...

Shard huddled in the center of her cell, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them. Her forehead was buried against her thighs. Clad in a linen shift that had probably been white once, she herself had looked better once upon a time. She'd always been slim of figure, but now hunger had made her skinny and bony. Her skin had been pale when she was brought in, but now it was so smudged and grimy that it looked dark. Only her eyes were as they had been...big and blue and dreamy. Those and the odd clear crystal that was apparently attached to her forehead. The mages hadn't been able to remove it, though they'd made her scream in pain by trying. Since then she'd been quiet and withdrawn, and easily forgotten compared to the poor fellow in the oubliette.

At something the gnome said though, her head snapped around to stare her not-quite-focused stare at him. It was hard to tell if she was listening, but she didn't look away.

Finally she said the first word since she'd said her name to her captors.

"How?"

Dace ached all over his muscular body - cuts and bruises from the beating he took reminded him of his ill begotten fate. Still, pain was an old friend for the Minotaur, and it did not bother him as much any more. Dace was trying to contain his boiling rage, his instincts screaming for him to get out of this narrow confined space.

"Must free! Free now! Free before bell!" Dace wasted no time, he jumped on his hoofs and attempted to rip the doors out of their hinges. The ramblings of the tiny, rabies-infested man suggested other actions, but Dace paid no heed. He was in no mood for giving trust to anyone but himself. The Minotaur gripped the thick steel bars and attempted to rock the gate off it's hinges: STR check: Take:20+7=27

Grellus sits in his filthy, stinking cell huddled over a tiny object gently cupped in one huge hand. He croons a deep, atonal dirge until the word 'ogre' penetrates the thick haze of his grief over better days long past. Normally, he puts the ravings of the mad gnome out of mind but tonight, with the clanging bells of death above, he squints peering into the darkness and listens with all the concentration he can muster. Much of it is beyond him. He knows the doors are strong, stronger than they should be. He knows because he spent days battering them to no effect.

He continues to listen; the wheels of his mind turning slowly. This is what he understands: He needs a key so he can break the door. Lots of guards to kill. And, the way out is down.

He can be free. All he needs to do is figure out how to get the key...

The tiresome cries of anguish from the prisoner down in the oubliette have, thankfully, long since faded away to naught. For those prisoners still awaiting their deaths in the dungeon however, his silent presence continues to make their imprisonment yet more miserable. A nausea inducing miasma of putrefying human remains has begun to waft up from his darkened grate in the corridor floor.

With the torturer's bell tolling far above and the raging minotaur desperately trashing around in his cell, most prisoners are unlikely to hear a sound faintly issuing from the depths of the wretch's oubliette; one reminiscent of a softly exhaled breath being drawn out for an impossibly long moment.

Dremis listened to the Gnomes babbling and perked at the mention of skill and thievery to get lost things back.... he must be talking about him assuredly... no one else here could have the skills be possessed.... he 'stole from a Red Wizard of Thay'... or so they say after all.... he could do this.... but what of this shadow the gnome talks about.... what about it in deed... if there was some sort of incorporeal in this place SURELY it was is ticket out.... and down apparently from the words of this crazed gnome.... the rogue halfling was willing to give a crazy mans words a shot... after all.. it was either this... or the tolls of death that loomed over his head....

From his cell he whispers to those hopefully next to him.....

soooo?... if anyone is listening... think the gnomes words are true?... wonder if it's just a dark spot in his cell!?.. if it is.. I can HIDE in it! If not... then we have a shadow amongst us... it SURELY is our ticket out.... if it can get the key... I can find our stuff.... and we are good as home free!" the little one said as he cackled almost maniacally to his other fellow captive as he timed the guards walk to his speech to keep from being overheard...

Varon - Human Diviner

How could it come to this?

Captivity has been very hard on the young man. Too like being trapped beneath that heavy cloth, stifling heat, stale air in his nostrils.

Here, he can at least move, but the other occupants of the cell frighten him almost as much as the impending execution.

The maddening toll of the bell is a torture in and of itself, a harsh tonal note that grates on the nerves, rattles the mind. It's constant clanging makes a mental escape from this horror as impossible as a physical escape from the cell.

Much of the gnome's ranting has been filtered out, an attempt to preserve some clarity and sanity in this place, but words like "freedom" are a red flag to the subconscious and conscious mind alike in a place like this. A moment's concentration to sort out what had been said over the last minute or two, and suddenly the mental/physical analogy seems poorly chosen.

Could escape truly be possible? An unhinged mind would surely dream that such was possible, is my mind now as unhinged as his?, but there did seem to be some method in his madness.

His voice is little more than a croak when he tries to speak the first time, and it is lost amidst the sound and the fury of the minotaur tearing at the gate. He clears his throat roughly and tries again:

"What is the shadow below, gnome? How can it get us the key? We have precious little time left, you must focus, tell us what needs to be done."

By the end of his final sentence, the desperation in his voice is evident, almost choking him, making the last words difficult.



OOC: With ten+ characters, remembering who people are based on their username is going to be painful. Any chance we could have name and class at the start of each post?

Seventeen

Shifting his weight forward onto his hands, Seventeen pushes up and stands, saying to himself, "Just doesn't know when to give up, now does he? I'd have as good a chance as knocking that door down."

He leans back against the wall and watches the door out of two crisp blue eyes. His smile is absent as he contemplates the words of the loon, quelling the urge to make a joke about our shadows being the ticket out of this god forsaken place.

How he had ended up here, he wasn't sure. He didn't know what he'd done wrong per se, but on the macro-level it was pretty clear. It was the micro that was really bugging him. And the constant clangs and perpetual reminders of pending death did little to ease his piqued curiosity.

A smell hits his nose, an unpleasant whiff of flesh and death. He screws his face and frowns, his eyebrows lowered near over his eyes. "Does anybody else smell that?" He says it to himself, more just to hear his voice. He lowers his head down and to the side and stays motionless, his eyes however active, looking all around.

Since he was brought in, the duergar remained mostly silent, and no one ever approached him in to speak.
The dark dwarf remained silent in his corner, not eating nothing, not saying a word and avoiding eye contact.
The only sound he made, was a drooling-like sound, as if his mouth was a more slimy than the spiny beard he has around it.
His head was decorated by a huge scar crossing his face and closing his right eye forever.
His fellows hear his deep voice, coming from behind the gnome, for the first time after the incoherent mumblings of the gnome. How did he got there, well, who knows?
"I can guide you. Guide you..." he looks furtively around. "Into the darkness..."
The duergar doesn't seem to gesture at any rate. His arms remain at his side, hanging.