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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Starman" data-source="post: 4202387" data-attributes="member: 7663"><a href="http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=224857" target="_blank">Rogue's Gallery</a>, <a href="http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=224336" target="_blank">OOC</a>Early summer, 99 LA, somewhere in the western part of central ErenlandThe slow creak of the wagon wheels is almost hypnotic in quality. If not for the sobbing, screaming, and cries of pain, it could very well put a person in a trance. The five of you – halfling, elfling, orc, gnome, and snow elf – find yourselves stuck in the same cage, a slave caravan bound for Steel Hill. Days blend together and you all find yourselves struggling to recall exactly how much time you have spent in the custody of Izrador’s troops. Has it been days? Weeks? The hazy gray sky obscuring the sun doesn’t make it any easier. Yesterday, you witnessed the slaughtering of everyone in a small village, perhaps three dozen people. There was nothing that “started it” as far as you could tell. The orcs just started hacking people down with their wicked vardatches. No one was even taken for slavery. Everyone, including children, was brutally killed. The cage you are in is small and cramped. The putrid stench of piss, sh*t, and blood seems soaked into the wood and your nostrils have not really gotten used to it even after spending so much time mired in it. There are two other people in the cage, as well, as well… A man with vaguely Sarcosan features has been mumbling and talking to himself throughout the journey. His pale blue eyes never seem to be focused on anything around him as if he gazes at some other world or time. He was already a prisoner before any of you were captured. There is an unsettling air about him beyond his obvious madness. The legate traveling with the slavers seems to have taken an interest in this man. You overheard him say something about an “interrogation” and “…don’t know…where he…from.”[sblock=Kryt]A few days ago, in the evening, for the briefest moment you swore you saw a look pass across the man’s face. It was a clear-eyed look, one that bespoke of sanity. You blinked and it was gone.[/sblock]There is also a woman in the cage which at first seemed odd because you have seen no other females in this caravan. Then you overheard two goblins discussing a high-ranking general who has a taste for human women. She is to be turned over to him for his pleasure. It’s not hard to see why she was chosen. Even with her tattered clothing, bruises, and forlorn expression, her beauty is staggering. Blonde hair tumbles down her back and around her face. Sharp brown eyes peer out from beneath long lashes. She has so far avoided talking to anyone in the cage apparently in a deep depression. [sblock=Sangrin] Last night amongst your dreams, you saw this woman surrounded by a white light in a dark room. She was screaming in pain, but you could not tell from what. You had the distinct impression that she has a very important role to play in Aryth’s future, though what you could not say.[/sblock]There are three caged wagons in front of your in the caravan. They all seem to be full, about a dozen people in each, mostly human. The wagon trailing yours carries supplies including most of the gear you had when you were captured. There are a dozen goblins, a few orcs, and a legate accompanying the caravan. The legate only joined the caravan within the past week. His face is marred by a thick scar running from the left side of his forehead to the right side of his jaw. He has thick, black hair and deep set eyes. A hawk accompanies him most of the time. The hawk has flown around your cage a few times and seemed to be staring at each one of you.That morning, the slavers made camp near the edge of the forest that they encountered yesterday on their journey. They pull off the worn path they had been following and start a few small fires. Soon, they bring your regular daily meal, a small wooden bowl of what can only be described as a grey…sludge. One bowl. Everyone in the cage is expected to share it. Or fight for it. Despite the wretched smell, you all feel your stomachs growling.</blockquote>

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