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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ringmereth" data-source="post: 3412778" data-attributes="member: 33915">So, first Dark and I were busy, then we were in Italy. All apologies for completely slacking off here. With that said, we're back in business, new and improved, with way more time on our hands.On with the game---I'm speeding it ahead a little here.Spells are cast and weapons stowed as the team makes their last preparations. Vhir and Carver, most conspicuous among their companions, vanish with a few mystical words. Morika, her face savager than before, elects to play the traitor. Priest, wizard, and spy all slip their weapons out of sight to act as prisoners. "Maybe yeh should tie yerselves. We ain't trustin' crim'nals to be nice when w' bring 'em to th' jail," the bugbear observes, gesturing casually to the rope he was bound with the previous night. "Ah can do it so it ain' trouble t' slip out." Reassured by Doral's faith in the charm, the three allow their prisoner to bind them. The knots, while thick, take only seconds to break free from. Boredom on his face, Dragen watches the preparations as he chews methodically at his breakfast. Uninterested in giving up his bow, the archer announces that he will trail the group from a short distance. Finished at last, the party waits for the street to clear, then hurries out of the building. The bugbear, one of his swords in hand, motions for the brutish shifter to lead the captives forward as he walks behind them. Invisibly, Vhir and Carver trail the five as quietly as they can manage, while the archer nonchalantly strides out of the abandoned shop and follows with lazy footsteps. His bow, wrapped in cloth, appears to the casual observer an ordinary, nondescript bundle. Above the procession, Cloudchaser swoops in broad arcs, uncaged by the wizard shortly before the group's exit. The scattered crowds that bustle about Port Verge's streets make way for the procession without question. No one dares rest their eyes too long on the menacing bugbear, though the prisoners attract many long stares. Behind them, the kobold and warforged desperately scramble through openings in the crowds, barely missing the bodies of oblivious townsfolk and travelers going about their business. Turning a corner, the bugbear points to a grim grey building. "There," he snarls. Two guards flank the barracks' door; one, hefting a spear, strides forward. "Thesh, we been wond'rin where th' hell ye gone! Rest o' yer men's dead, an' no word from ye!--an' who in Khyber's that?" The sentry, clad in chain and badly scarred on the cheek, points suspiciously to Morika."She--she ain' one ah them," the bugbear stumbles. "Turned on 'em, gave 'em up. We caught 'ese 'uns in th' night, all sleepin'." He makes for the door. "Don' stand there, addle-brain! Get 'em in 'ere." The guard shrugs and beckons his partner; they haul the bound trio into the barracks without complaint.The room, lit by torches, is 40 feet long and half as wide. Double bunks line the right wall, and a long table is placed opposite them. Six soldiers lounge on benches next to it, idly gambling away coppers at a dice game. On the far end of the room, a barred door seperates the living quarters from prison cells. Left of it is a crude kitchen with oven, cupboards, and a table strewn with scraps of a meal. The 'prisoners' glance around the room, preparing to make their move, as one of the gamblers rises and approaches them, a cruel grin on his face.</blockquote>

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