Maugan Ra
2013-05-16, 02:01 PM
Act One: Prisonbreak
It is dark in your cell - the guards have not seen fit to leave you a torch, and the only illumination comes from the dim moonlight streaming in through the barred window high above your head. Fortunately, the unholy power that runs through your veins has sharpened your senses, and even in this half-light you can see as well as if it were noon. Not that there is much to look at - just the crude stone walls of your cell, and the iron bars that separate you from the corridor beyond.
They confiscated your possessions when you were arrested, leaving you with little more than your dignity and a set of threadbare rags to ward away the chill of the ocean breeze. It is a task they fail miserably at, and after three days in this cell, your body aches from long exposure to the cold. The savage beatings doled out whenever you complain haven't helped... nor has the dull burn of the runic brand they seared into your forearm upon arrival. F, for Forsaken - the mark of those cast out beyond Mitra's light.
You deserve it, of course - no one gets sent to Branderscar unless their crimes are truly vile, and by all the laws of the land yours deserve the death penalty thrice over. Sir Balin, the witch-hunter who first arrested you, was very clear on that. You can still picture his face, still hear his arrogant words...
May Mitra have mercy upon you, for Talingarde will not.
Oh, what you wouldn't give for a chance to make him eat those words... but no. There is no hope, not any more. The witch hunter is far beyond your grasp, and all that remains for you to do is to waste away in this cell, until the judge arrives and the pyre is lit. You still have your magic, what little of it you did not expend in the fight against your arrest, but by itself that is not nearly enough. No one has ever escaped from Branderscar - a fact the guards took great joy in reminding you of.
At least you are not alone in your final hours. They brought in another inmate yesterday - an ogre, charged with banditry and all manner of other offenses against Lord and Land. It took three of the guards to get him in the cell, and even though he was drugged and bound the beast still managed to break a couple of their bones in the process before passing out. Judging by the steady breathing you can hear from across the corridor, he's awake now, but so far neither of you have said a word to each other. Might be worth changing that.
After all, what do you have to lose?
It is dark in your cell - the guards have not seen fit to leave you a torch, and the only illumination comes from the dim moonlight streaming in through the barred window high above your head. Fortunately, the unholy power that runs through your veins has sharpened your senses, and even in this half-light you can see as well as if it were noon. Not that there is much to look at - just the crude stone walls of your cell, and the iron bars that separate you from the corridor beyond.
They confiscated your possessions when you were arrested, leaving you with little more than your dignity and a set of threadbare rags to ward away the chill of the ocean breeze. It is a task they fail miserably at, and after three days in this cell, your body aches from long exposure to the cold. The savage beatings doled out whenever you complain haven't helped... nor has the dull burn of the runic brand they seared into your forearm upon arrival. F, for Forsaken - the mark of those cast out beyond Mitra's light.
You deserve it, of course - no one gets sent to Branderscar unless their crimes are truly vile, and by all the laws of the land yours deserve the death penalty thrice over. Sir Balin, the witch-hunter who first arrested you, was very clear on that. You can still picture his face, still hear his arrogant words...
May Mitra have mercy upon you, for Talingarde will not.
Oh, what you wouldn't give for a chance to make him eat those words... but no. There is no hope, not any more. The witch hunter is far beyond your grasp, and all that remains for you to do is to waste away in this cell, until the judge arrives and the pyre is lit. You still have your magic, what little of it you did not expend in the fight against your arrest, but by itself that is not nearly enough. No one has ever escaped from Branderscar - a fact the guards took great joy in reminding you of.
At least you are not alone in your final hours. They brought in another inmate yesterday - an ogre, charged with banditry and all manner of other offenses against Lord and Land. It took three of the guards to get him in the cell, and even though he was drugged and bound the beast still managed to break a couple of their bones in the process before passing out. Judging by the steady breathing you can hear from across the corridor, he's awake now, but so far neither of you have said a word to each other. Might be worth changing that.
After all, what do you have to lose?