Live in Infamy

The warden turns away, already putting you out of his mind, and from behind you two guards step up and lay hands across your broad shoulders. Humans, both of them - a good thing, you think, for you are not sure you could bear to hold your peace if it were a dwarf that were doing this to you. With grunts of effort they manhandle you across the courtyard and over to a small shed tucked up against the thick stone wall. There, sheltered from the rain by an overhanging roof of wood, sits a gently smoking brazier filled with orange-red coals.

Gritting your teeth, you look away, searching for something to distract you from what is about to happen. There's not much to see - Branderscar was never a terribly large castle, constrained by the size of the island on which it sits and valued more for its position and reputation than anything else. A single curtain wall rises some five or six times your height in any direction, set with three-story towers every hundred metres or so, and save for a small garden tucked to one side there is only one main building. You suppose the guards and prisoners must share the space, which probably cuts down on capacity - but then, Branderscar is only ever meant for the worst kind of scum, and how many of those can there really be?

"Aw, don't be shy now, milady," a smooth, oily voice says in tones of mocking comfort, "Won't take but a second."

You work your jaw, but you don't have the moisture to spit properly, so you have to settle for glaring at the wretched excuse for a soldier waiting for you by the brazier. There's a thick layer of fat over the soldier's muscle, but more striking by far is the look of sick satisfaction in his beady black eyes as he pulls the branding iron out of the fire.



"Hold her steady now," the sergeant orders one of the two manhandling you, smiling as his minion grabs you by the wrist and forces your arm out straight, "there we go… don't worry if you scream now, missus, 'tis naught any of us haven't heard before."

Without further ceremony he presses the branding iron to the bare skin of your arm, and for all your resolve you cannot entirely strangle a cry of pain. The breath leaves your lungs, your jaw tightens to the point of pain, and the stench of burnt meat fills your nose. The sergeant is smiling, eyes alight with cruel pleasure at your distress, and only after several long moments does he pull the branding iron away and return it to the flames.

"There we go, all done," he says cheerfully, before nodding to the men still holding you tightly in place, "Alright, take her up. Put her in cell three."

Your arm alight and your vision swimming with pain, you're only just about able to make out the world around you as the guards drag you away. The scenes roll past your eyes in swift succession, punctuated by agony as your heart sends blood rushing through the seared and broken flesh of your arm; the courtyard, a bubbling fountain, double doors, a long corridor, a darkened stairwell. Then you are being led into the cell block, where flickering torches provide the only light and sullen eyes glare out from behind thick iron bars.

"Here you are, prisoner," the guard hauling you along says, keys jangling as he unlocks your cell and pulls you inside, "Home sweet home."

A moment later your arms are yanked upwards, drawing another hiss of pain from your chapped lips, and the heavy manacles binding your hands are shackled to a thick metal ring sunk into the stone above your head. The guard tugs on the chains twice, satisfying himself, then without a backwards glance locks the cell behind him and leaves.

For a few long minutes you can only sit there, back to the wall, suffering in silence. Then something shifts in the darkness before you, and you realise that you are not the only being in this cell.

"Well, well," a hoarse voice murmurs, filled with bitter amusement, "How about that. Another sinner joins our blessed ranks. My lady, let me be the first to welcome you to our humble abode."

The prisoner is a human, you think, somewhat withered and malnourished and chained as you are to the opposite wall. His dark hair hangs in a ragged mane from his liver-spotted scalp, and when he smiles, he has more teeth chipped than whole.

"Piss off," you mutter, and the prisoner only smiles wider.

"Aw, don't be like that," he chuckles, but not too loudly, the quiet murmur of a man who knows that the guards are nearby and he still has more ribs to break, "We're going to be seeing a lot of each other, my lady, until we see nothing more at all. Might as well be companionable in these last days, yeah?"

You look down, breaking your gaze. He's right, after all. You are, in all likelihood, going to die here, in this little castle at the edge of the world. No friends, no family, no clan… just you, and the soldiers who hold you, and the wretches who will die soon after.

Your eyes burn.

"Not the talkative type? Well, that's ok," the prisoner says with a bitter kind of cheer, "Why don't I start? Name is Sil, and I've been a sailor since about the time I could walk. Always loved the sea, I did. Now… how 'bout you?"

Article:

What is your background? What did you do, before the crimes that condemned you to this prison? Each of these options grants two attribute boosts, detailed in the brackets after the description.

[ ] [Background] Bookkeeper
You were a private accountant, prized as so many of your kind are for your skill with numbers and diligent work ethic. You are trained in the Society and Accounting Lore skills, and gain the Eye for Numbers feat. (+Wisdom or +Intelligence) (+Any)

[ ] [Background] Barber
Hair care and grooming are extremely important to dwarves, and being trusted with such things often led to your neighbours calling on you for simple dentistry and surgical operations as well. You are trained in the Medicine and Surgical Lore skills, and gain the Risky Surgery feat. (+Dexterity or +Wisdom) (+Any)

[ ] [Background] Miner
Keen to live as your ancestors did, you toiled within the depths of the earth, seeking precious stones and valuable metal. You are trained in the Survival and Mining Lore skills, and gain the Terrain Expertise feat for underground environments. (+Strength or +Wisdom) (+Any)

-/-

Of course, good, upstanding members of their community do not get sent to Branderscar. What crime did you commit? By extension, where do your skills (and character class) lie?

[ ] [Crime] Arson, Blasphemy and Desecration (Animist)
Though your people do not maintain a formal clergy, you were born with the ability to commune with your ancestors and channel the primal power of your mountain homes. When the local authorities started building shrines to Mitra in your neighbourhood and putting priests in your schools, seeking to extinguish the very traditions you embody, you knew that you had to act. For your crimes, you have been sentenced to death by beheading. (Animist, Sage Practice)

[ ] [Crime] High Theft, Murder and Sedition (Ranger)
Dreaming of a restored Dwarven kingdom, you led a small band of rebels in a guerilla campaign against the Crown. You murdered government officials, stole tax shipments, intercepted royal communiques and did your best to build the resources necessary to retake your lost homes. For these crimes, you are to be hung, drawn and quartered. (Ranger)

[ ] [Crime] Extortion, Forgery and Kidnapping (Rogue)
When the law would not protect your people, they turned to you. You raided businesses, blackmailed officials, broke knees and did whatever you had to in order to advance dwarven interests. Your people protected you as long as they could, but in the end you were caught, and now the sheer litany of your crimes has seen you sentenced to hang. (Rogue, Mastermind Racket)

[ ] [Crime] Grave Robbing, Heresy and Witchcraft (Wizard)
The Church of Mitra retains the right of veto over all scholarly works published in Talingarde, a right they have used to viciously suppress the lore and histories of your people. Seeking to circumnavigate their authority and reclaim your birthright, you interrogated the dead and communed with beings of other planes. For these crimes, you are sentenced to burn at the stake. (Wizard, School of the Boundary)