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Live in Infamy

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V - We Have an Ogre
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    • Grumblejack, as the ogre apparently names himself, hefts a wooden bench onto his shoulder and coughs awkwardly. Everyone looks at him, half again as tall as a full-grown man and twice as broad, then at the fireplace and the narrow chimney behind.

    "Stairs it is!" Lisara says cheerfully, testing the weight of a looted shortsword in one elegant hand, "Let's go kill some people."

    In a ragged mob your little band of escapees makes their way down the stairs, moving as quietly as possible. At the bottom there is a thick wooden door, doubtless to thank for the lack of response to your assault of the two guards above, and a torch burning fitfully in a sconce. Dorgo pauses halfway down the stairs, laying both hands on the stone wall and closing his eyes.

    "Metal…" he grunts, the air tingling with magic as he lifts one hand from the wall to point, "Two piles there… scattered pieces all over… then many to the left."

    "Our guards and the armoury," Lisara says with a satisfied nod, "Alright, everyone in position. The second the door opens, we rush them."

    The others nod, descending the stairwell to take up positions around the door, but you hesitate… then nod, reaching out to grasp the weave of the world once more. Circumstances deny you your more potent magics, but it is a simple thing to bleed coloured light from another world and stain the door a vivid red. The others are surprised, then Lisara smiles and nods at you in approval, and a few moments later you hear the muffled sound of footsteps on the other side.

    "What the hell is that?" Someone says, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door, "Some kind of… magic thing?"

    "Dunno," another replies, "But maybe we should get the warden? Might be his little games are…"

    The sound of enemies so close is apparently too much for Grumblejack to stand, and with one massive foot he kicks open the door, letting loose a roar of fury that sends the guards staggering back, pale and shaking. You drop the enchantment on the door and try to work a more practical offensive spell, but everything is moving too fast and your spell goes awry. Lisara with her sword, Dorgo with his hands becoming claws, Mikael with bare fists shining with light… and, of course, Grumblejack the ogre, wielding a looted bench like lesser men might a club.

    By the time you adjust for your error and can weave the magic properly, the two guards are broken heaps on the ground, weapons still sheathed at their belts. You let your hands drop and brush idly at the folds of your new dress.

    "Well," you cough, stepping awkwardly into the corridor and over the mangled bodies, "good job, all."

    Lisara snorts at that, and even the stoic Mikael cracks a brief smile. Before anyone can respond, however, one of the doors along the side of the corridor opens and another man peers out.

    "What the hell is…" he says, before falling silent as his brain catches up with his eyes. You see the food stains on his tunic, the hall full of benches behind him, and realise you've caught someone at their lunch. "Oh. Shit."

    "Oh, good," Grumblejack chortles nastily, hefting his improvised club again, "Food."

    The Ogre's first swing is stymied by the narrow width of the door, rebounding from the stone with a hideous crash, but with a snarl he adjust and thrusts the bench into the hapless guard's chest. The human reels backwards, choking, and before anyone else can react Lisara quite literally dives between Grumblejack's legs and rolls to her feet in the mess hall beyond. Her sword flashes brightly as she rises to her feet, opening the guard's throat to the bone, and that is that.

    Beyond her you can see more soldiers arriving, rising from their tables or entering from the adjacent barracks, but this time you are ready. You flex your fingers, lay hands on two adjacent strata of the material plane, and twist ever so slightly. Thirty paces distant, an armed man screams like a child as every joint on the right side of his body is suddenly three inches from its socket. His comrade tries to help him, lifting his sword and stepping between his injured friend and the escaped prisoners before him, but it is pointless. Mikael slips into the room like a wraith, running across tables and leaping from chairs, and before anyone inside can react he delivers a pair of bone-shattering kicks that end the fight before it can even properly begin.

    "Whoo!" Lisara yells, punching the air and doing a little spin, "Hell yeah! Anyone else want some?"

    Distantly, you hear the sound of doors banging open and feet pounding on stone, but they are headed away from you. The servants, most likely, hearing the carnage from the kitchen and running for their lives.

    "Hah. Little ones running scared," Grumblejack chortles, setting down the bench and rolling his shoulders. Then he bends down to pick up one of the corpses, and before anyone else can say anything, takes a bite out of the dead man's torso. You stare, unable to tear your gaze away, and with a bashful little shrug the ogre holds the corpse out towards you in turn. "Mm. Is good. You want some?"

    Your gorge rises, and with an act of will you turn away, breathing rapidly through clenched teeth as you force your stomach to settle. The noises as Grumblejack returns to his feast makes it harder than you would like.

    "No one else inside," Dorgo grunts, looking around you cautiously, "All out on the walls?"

    "There can't be that many left," Mikael comments, frowning, and you notice that he is breathing far more heavily than the rest of you. Those martial techniques of his must really take it out of a man. "Two upstairs, five more here… even if we discount these ones as part of a previous shift, staying to be fed on the King's silver…"

    "We could do it… shit, we are doing it," Lisara says in a tone of wonder, "Most secure prison in Talingarde, apparently, and we're doing it…"

    Article:
    How do you intend to proceed?

    [ ] Break Out
    You have the initiative, but it may not last for long. Head for the gatehouse and leave this place behind you, the sooner the better.

    [ ] Take Over
    If you hit the Warden's tower and pick off any remaining guards before they can rally and regroup, you could take this whole castle for yourselves.

    Regardless of the above choice, do you spend time looting the Grand Hall (the central building you have just secured) before moving on?

    [ ] Yes. The possible supplies and resources on offer are too important to pass up. Choose one room for Valka to focus on personally
    - [ ] The Armoury and Storeroom
    - [ ] The Kitchens
    - [ ] The Sergeant's Office and Archives

    [ ] No. You cannot spare the time to loot an empty building. You must press on.


    Rolls for initiative! In Pf2, there are no "surprise rounds". However, getting the drop on an enemy may allow you to use stealth for your roll, and of course if the enemy does not know you are there when a combat begins, they cannot target you.

    Grumblejack - 21
    Valka - 10
    Dorgo - 9
    Mikael - 7
    Lisara - 17

    Guard One - 25
    Guard Two - 23

    Round One
    Guard One and Two - Marvel at the doorway, talk among themselves, consider going to get the Warden
    Grumblejack
    1. Opens the door
    2. Swings the table (improvised greatclub) at Guard One. 19, hit. D10+5 = 12 damage.
    3. Roars at Guard two, making a demoralise action. Intimidate is d20+9, DC is 15, roll is 23. Success. Guard Two gets Frightened 1.
    Lisara
    1. Strides into corridor and past the enemy, Tumbling Through them with her acrobatics. She has the Assurance feat for acrobatics, so sets her result to 17, success. Gains Panache.
    2. Makes a Confident Finisher against guard one, who she is now flanking. Attack is d20+7, result 20, hit. Damage is d6+1+2d6 = 4, the worst possible result, ouch.
    3. Duelist's Parry, giving her +2AC until her next turn.
    Valka
    1. Spends two actions to cast Phase Bolt, ignoring the cover from the odd angle as she aims at guard one. Spell attack is d20+7, roll is natural 1, miss.
    2. Strides to reposition behind Grumblejack.
    Dorgo
    1. Strides into position in corridor before Guard Two
    2. Spends two actions to cast Gouging Claw. Attack is d20+6, result 20, hit. 7 slashing damage, plus two persistent bleed.
    Mikael
    1. Strides into corridor before Guard One
    2. Adopts Dragon Stance
    3. Uses Ki Strike on a flurry of blows, directs one attack at each guard. Attack on guard one is 15, bare hit due to flanking. 9+4+4=17 damage, kills guard one. Attack on guard two is 23, hit. Damage is again 17, kills Guard Two.

    Party Members keep existing initiative. Three more guards enter combat, one in the mess hall and two in the adjourning barracks. None have armour, because they were off duty, so their AC is 13.

    Grumblejack - 21
    Valka - 10
    Dorgo - 9
    Mikael - 7
    Lisara - 17

    Guard Three - 14
    Guard Four - 15
    Guard Five - 25

    Guard Five
    1. Rises from his bed
    2. Grabs his weapon
    3. Strides into the mess hall
    Grumblejack
    1. Strides next to Guard Three, in entrance of the mess hall
    2. Strikes at Guard Three. Roll is 12, bare miss.
    3. Strikes at Guard Three again, taking -5 penalty. Roll is 15, hit. 12 damage.
    Lisara
    1. Strides into the mess hall, again using Tumble Through to get behind guard three. Gains panache.
    2. Makes a confident finisher. Roll to hit is 26, critical hit. Total damage is 28, kills guard three.
    3. Turns to next guard, adopts Duelist's Parry.
    Guard Four
    1. Stands up
    2. Grabs weapon
    3. Strides into mess hall, taking up position next to guard five
    Valka
    1. Strides into a place where she can see Guard Five.
    2. Casts Phase Bolt, ignoring cover benefit again. Roll is 27, critical hit. Inflicts 18 damage, guard is still alive but only barely.
    Dorgo
    1. Moves into the Mess Hall.
    2. Casts Acid Splash at Guard Five, catches guard Four in the blast. Rolls 2 damage, reflex save DC is 16. Guards four and five get results of 11 and 19, so guard four perishes to the acid, guard five takes half damage (2)
    Mikael
    1. Strides twice to get into the mess hall and then up to the remaining guard. Due to dragon stance, he ignores the difficult terrain of going over the tables.
    2. Makes a Flurry of Blows. Rolls to hit are 16 and 23, one hit and one critical. First is 9 damage, second is 18. Guard Four is killed.
     
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    • VI. Breaking out of Branderscar
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    • "Getting through the gates is only step one," you offer, trying not to look at the ogre and his grisly meal, "We'll need supplies - food, warm clothes, money."

    "A good point," Lisara nods, "Dorgo, let's see what the kitchens have to offer. Mikael, if you could check the barracks? And, ah, Grumblejack?"

    "Mm?" The ogre looks up at her, blood dripping down his hairy chin.

    "See if you can break into the armoury," Lisara says, swallowing briefly at the sight, "We'll do better for weapons. Valka…"

    "I'll check the office," you say briskly, already moving. You'd have gone there regardless, because if there is one thing you've never been able to leave well enough alone, it is a mystery. The staff and equipment you have seen at Branderscar has been woefully insufficient for a place of its reputation, and you have to know where the money has been going. It's the same curious tenacity that made your name as a bookkeeper, and ancestors willing it will help you now.

    The first door on the main hall is labelled 'office', and at first everything inside seems entirely unexceptional. There's a cluttered desk, a series of shelves piled high with various record books and archived missives, and of course the usual series of maps, notices and general reminders pinned to the various walls. It takes you a moment to find what you're looking for, but then you have the latest budget report in your hands.

    Article:
    Valka tests Lore: Accounting! DC is 15, roll is 8+7 = 15, success!


    Well. Sergeant Tomas Blackerly might just be the single greediest idiot you've ever encountered. It takes you all of a minute to identify a dozen different fraudulent transactions in the records - wages paid to guards with painfully generic names, food you know they didn't serve, repair fees that repeat every three months - and you have to assume the only reason nobody else has caught him is that the people receiving these reports have never actually been to Branderscar in person. This isn't someone skimming a little off the top, this is someone embezzling the Kingdom for ten times his own annual salary.

    (In the corridor outside, wood splinters and metal groans as Grumblejack kicks in the armoury door. You wince and keep reading.)

    That said, there's nothing in the records to indicate what he's done with the money either. You close the record and leave it on the desk, heading into the adjourning room. At first glance it too is normal, a set of private quarters for the head of the local guard, a bit messy and disorganised but otherwise unexceptional…

    Article:
    Velka tests Perception to Seek! DC is 10, d20+7=12, success.

    Velka tests Thievery! DC is 15, d20+5+1= 12, fail.


    Until you look under his bed and find a heavily locked strongbox hidden underneath a spare sheet. The lock is too complex for you to pick open in the time you have available, but just tilting it slightly produces the sound of bottled liquids and the clink of a great number of coins. Smiling sharply, you grab the sergeant's own travelling pack from the wardrobe and load the box into it, strapping it across your back with a grunt. Then you go in search of the others.

    "Ah, there you are," Lisara says briskly, sheathing a rapier she appears to have liberated from the now open armoury. Next to her, Grumblejack is strapping on a set of hardened hides with a distressingly cheerful expression, an absolute monster of a halberd propped up against the wall nearby. "Find anything?"

    "Blackerly's private retirement fund," you say briefly, because you don't care to lie absolutely but there's no sense in revealing just how much coin you are now carrying around a collection of murderers, "Should be good for a bribe or two."

    "Excellent," Lisara says with an approving nod, picking up a wooden shield and tossing it to you as the others emerge from the mess hall behind her with a sack almost groaning with stolen food. "Let's go, then, before we push our luck any further."

    It may already be too late for that, because as soon as Lisara puts a hand on the main door and begins to push, a crossbow bolt lodges in the wood mere inches from her hand with a murderous thump.

    "Give it up, prisoners!" The cruel voice of Sergeant Blackerly echoes from outside, even as Lisara curses and pulls her hand back, "There's no way out!"

    "Piece of… no," Lisara mutters angrily, shaking her head, "He's addressing us, not the warden, which means the old man isn't here yet. This is still our best window."

    "Good enough for me," Mikael nods sharply, and without another word throws the double doors open and lunges into the courtyard. He gets five paces before being beset by a pair of snarling hounds, and everything goes immediately to hell.

    You lose track of events almost instantly. Everything is blades and shouts and the angry buzz of crossbow bolts, and it is all you can do to hold the borrowed shield up before you like a talisman and edge your way across the courtyard. You cast a bolt of shifting anti-space that folds one of the hounds in two, skirt around a swirling brawl in the middle of the courtyard, curse your short legs as the others pull away…

    "Valka!" Lisara calls out to you, her voice sharp and panicked, and you glance over to see her drawing her rapier out of Tomas Blackerly's greedy heart. The sergeant did not, it seems, go down easy - on the ground next to him, Mikael lies in a heap, hands grasping blindly at a sucking gut-wound. "Valka, help him!"

    For one terrible moment you hesitate. Ahead you can see Dorgo throwing open the heavy wooden gates, blood pouring down his dark green skin as he ignores the crossbow bolt sticking out of his shoulder, and you could escape now, it would be so easy…

    Cursing your ancestors and all their progeny you turn and hurry over to your fallen comrade. Lisara is already kneeling at his side, her slender hands wet with blood, and with a growl you point out where to apply pressure as you pull out bandages and coagulant creams. Crossbow bolts fly past you, but the three of you are in the shadow of a great fountain in the middle of the yard, the imposing stone form of some old Talirean hero giving you cover from the men who serve his king. There is an inscription on the base, shining in the sun.

    Thus is Justice Done.

    "Got it!" You snarl, tying off the bandage and smacking the pale-faced Mikael across the cheeks, "That'll hold you for now, so…"

    "Time to go, little ones!" Grumblejack the ogre roars, scooping you up into his broad arms, and just like that you are off and running.

    Rolling initiative!

    Lisara - 17
    Dorgo - 9
    Mikael - 16
    Valka - 17
    Grumblejack - 13

    Sergeant Blackerly - 13
    Guard Dogs - 20
    Guards - 10

    Guard Dogs
    1. Stride twice to cover the distance, both lunge for Mikael.
    2. Each dog makes a strike. Attack rolls of 12 and 10 both miss Mikael's AC of 17.
    Lisara
    1. Tumbles Through the guard dog, uses assurance to get 17, bare success.
    2. Strides up next to the fountain, getting cover from the archers.
    3. Duellist's Parry
    Valka
    1. Raises her shield to give +2 AC
    2. Casts Phase Bolt on one of the guard dogs. Roll is 22, hit. 3d4=8 damage total, guard dog one goes down.
    Mikael
    1. Adopts Dragon Stance
    2. Makes a flurry of blows against remaining guard dog. Attack rolls of 19 and 11, one hit. 12 damage, second guard dog incapacitated.
    3. Strides out into the courtyard.
    Sergeant Blackerly
    1. Strides up next to Lisara
    2. Spends two actions on Intimidating Strike. Attack roll is d20+11=17, Lisara is presently AC20, so he misses.
    Grumblejack
    1. Strides out into courtyard, within reach of Blackerly due to his size.
    2. Strikes with his hook. d20+12=15, miss.
    3. Makes a trip attack at -5 on Blackerly. DC is 20, roll is 19, narrow miss.
    Guards
    1. Seeing Mikael in the open, both guards fire at him with their crossbows. Attack rolls of 21 and 10, one hit, deals 2 damage.
    2. Reload their crossbows.
    Dorgo
    1. Ignores the fighting and strides three times to get to the gate, which is currently closed and barred.

    Lisara - 17
    Dorgo - 9
    Mikael - 16
    Valka - 17
    Grumblejack - 13

    Sergeant Blackerly - 13
    Guards - 10

    Lisara
    1. Steps so as to be on one side of Blackerly
    2. Strikes with her rapier, total 18, misses
    3. Duelist's Parry
    Valka
    1. Raises shield for +2AC
    2. Strides twice, going wide around the brawl in the middle, hoping to reach the gate
    Mikael
    1. Strides up to Blackerly, flanking him with Lisara
    2. Performs a Ki Strike flurry of blows. Total of 22 and 24 to hit, both hit. First hit is 11 damage, second is 13 damage, in total 24. Blackerly is seriously hurt, but still standing.
    Sergeant Blackerly
    1. Makes a strike against Mikael. Rolls natural 20, critical hit, inflicts a total of 26 damage. Mikael is knocked down and gains Dying 2.
    2. Makes an Intimidating Strike for two actions against Lisara, with -5 multi attack penalty. Rolls total of 11, misses.
    Grumblejack
    1. Strides in order to get into a flanking position
      1. Blackerly rolls an attack of opportunity, total of 15, misses.
    2. Makes a trip attempt on Blackerly, d20+12 total of 18, fails.
    3. Makes a strike against Blackerly, d20+7=23, hit. Deals 16 damage. Blackerly is near death.
    Guards
    1. Seeing Dorgo trying to get through the door, the guards reposition to the murder holes
    2. Both shoot at him, get a +2 bonus for the easy shot, 19 and 9 total, one hit. Only one damage.
    3. Reload their crossbows.
    Dorgo
    1. Uses all of his actions to unbar and open the gate.

    Lisara - 17
    Dorgo - 9
    Mikael - 14 (Dying)
    Valka - 17
    Grumblejack - 13

    Sergeant Blackerly - 13
    Guards - 10

    Lisara
    1. Makes a Confident Finisher on Blackerly. d20+7=18, just enough due to the flanking bonus from Grumblejack. Damage is a total of 6 (her rolls are really bad), which is just enough to put Blackerly down.
    2. Grabs Mikael, prepares to assist Valka, since she is trained in medicine.
    Valka
    1. Strides to reach Mikael
    2. Attempts to administer First Aid. DC is 17, roll is 9. Use Hero point to reroll, total of 23, success. Mikael loses the Dying condition but is still unconscious.
    Grumblejack
    1. Picks up all three of his immediate fellow prisoners, begins to run.

    To abstract out the fire from the guards as you flee down the bridge, I will make one attack against each conscious prisoner.
    Lisara - 22, hit, 6 damage.
    Grumblejack - 15, miss
    Dorgo - 20, critical hit, 9 damage
    Valka - 1, complete miss

    The flight down the bridge is scarcely less chaotic, a headlong flight along a dangerously narrow passage as waves crash below and bolts hiss through the air around you. Lisara cries out at one point and nearly falls, Dorgo grunts with pain… and then you are out of range, crossing the bridge proper, heralded by the distant calls of alarm horns.

    "No way through," Grumblejack growls angrily, still carrying you in his hairy arms, and at the end of the bridge you see what he means. The gatehouse there is more like a small fort in its own right, equipped with a heavy portcullis and built flush against the bridge. You could perhaps use the window from the veil to make a way through, but already you can see more guards emerging from within, hear yet more horns blowing in the main castle behind you, and you know there is not enough time.

    "Jump!" you call, gesturing to the side of the bridge, "Into the water!"

    Grumblejack obeys instantly, or perhaps was already intending to jump, and a moment later you are airborne. The howling wind steals your oath of surprise, and the water smacks you like a hammer.

    Article:
    Valka tests athletics to swim! DC is 10. Roll is 9. Six rounds of air left.

    Second test is 19. Success!

    Swimming from the middle of the bridge was by far the safest option. Anywhere else would have had Valka contend with sharp rocks, riptides and other perils.


    You don't so much swim to shore as flail wildly until the waves and currents carry you there, but eventually you feel sand beneath your feet and are able to stagger up out of the waves to the rocky beach. You are battered, bruised, exhausted… and free.

    "Good to see you made it," Lisara says, breathlessly. The elf is currently sprawled out on the beach like a dying fish, while beyond her you can see the rest of your little band picking themselves out of the surf with equal degrees of stress. Only Grumblejack seems to have found the swim to shore invigorating instead of exhausting, and he hums cheerfully to himself as he hauls the half-conscious Mikael out of the waves. "Where now?"

    Groaning, you force yourself upright and stagger up the shore. Ahead of you is the coast road, one of the best maintained in the Kingdom, and beyond that… the Varyston Moors. Several hundred square miles of dark, stinking salt marshes, filled with brackish water and clouds of stinging insects. Somewhere out there is the old road with the manor house that Tiadora spoke to you of, where your mysterious benefactor waits for a meeting… but to your slight surprise, the woman herself is nowhere to be seen.

    The choice, it seems, is yours.

    Article:
    How do you proceed?

    [ ] Seek the Manor
    You are forsaken by Mitra and condemned to death by Talingarde, and even now soldiers will be preparing to hunt you down. You need sanctuary, and you need allies, both of which the manor promises to provide.

    [ ] Turn Aside
    - [ ] Suggest another destination (optional write-in)
    You know nothing of this mysterious benefactor, save that they doubtless have their own agenda and would have you place your fate blindly in their hands. You have food, clothes and a chest full of gold, and you will decide your own destiny.
     
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    • VII - Across the Moors
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    • For a few moments you hesitate. You know that Tiadora's mysterious ally is waiting for you, but that is almost all you know of them. Will you truly place your fate in such unknown hands? They surely have their own agenda, and if they broke hardened criminals out of Branderscar to pursue it then they are clearly dangerous in their own right.

    Yet, what choice do you have? You bear the brand of the Forsaken, making it a crime under the laws of Talingarde for anyone to render you aid or shelter. Your Clan disowned you to save themselves from the fury of the Mitran Inquisition, and while you hardly blame them you have few other allies in this land. If you try to go it alone you will be hunted down and captured again, and you doubt they will be so kind as to wait before lashing you to the stake.

    "I have allies," you say to your new companions, "The ones who smuggling in the lockpicks and other supplies for us. They're waiting out there, in a manor house on the old moor road."

    "I will find it," Dorgo the Orc says with a grunt, levering himself to his feet. He lost the crossbow bolt somewhere during your swim, but the wound is still visible on his gnarled skin. If it bothers him, he does not let it show. "Follow."

    You look back at the others. Mikael looks vaguely nauseous at the thought of venturing into such unpleasant terrain, as well he might with a partially-treated gut wound, but nobody raises any objections.

    Article:
    Dorgo tests Survival! Natural 1. Critical failure.

    Grumblejack intervenes!


    Dorgo leads the way across the mire with confidence, striding fearlessly through puddles of water and pushing through thickets of tangled grass without pause. The rest of you follow as best as you can, marching in silence to conserve your energy.

    Perhaps half an hour in, the trek very nearly ends in disaster as an enormous toad large enough to swallow you whole bounds out of the mire… but then Grumblejack steps forward and catches the long, sticky tongue before it can snare you, and with a brutal swipe of his halberd cuts it off at the root.

    "Swamp toad tongue!" he says cheerfully, ignoring the croaking amphibian as it thrashes in pain and flees back into the mire, "Good juice from this. Makes you see god!"

    Article:
    Valka tests Nature to recall knowledge. Roll is 21, success.


    "I know the oil on a swamp toad's skin makes for a potent narcotic," you say curiously, "but I've not heard of the tongue being used that way."

    "Oh yeah," Grumblejack nods, hanging the twitching organ from his belt, "Same stuff, but extra strong. Plus, grows back."

    You glance at the others briefly, but they all look either baffled or utterly disinterested. Only Lisara is frowning in thought.

    "You make it sound like you farm the creatures," the noblewoman comments after a moment, grimacing as she pulls her foot free of a sucking patch of mud. "I did not know ogres were capable of such things."

    You wince slightly at the lack of tact, but you cannot deny you are curious. You've never met an ogre before, but all the stories you heard of them made it sound like they were little more than roving monsters, what little intelligence they might have had debased by generations of savagery and inbreeding.

    "Not farm, pet," Grumblejack corrects her with a scoff, "Little ones farm. Ogres take, keep. Family with toad pets is lucky, blessed by the gods. Grumblejack's family is…"

    He pauses then, gaze locked on something in the distance, then turns away. This time, even Lisara knows better than to prod, for the black mood hanging around the ogre now is one that even the densest soul would be able to read. And so you return to walking in silence.

    -/-

    Three hours after entering the marsh, with the sun beginning to dip towards the horizon, you at last find the old moor road, and at the top of a low hill a dark green manor house surrounded by a wrought iron fence. It looks uninhabited if not outright abandoned, and certainly unwelcoming, but as promised a lantern burns in an upper story window. Taking a moment to gather your wits, you approach.

    As you draw closer, the doors of the manor house open without a sound, spilling warm golden light across the ground. Standing in the doorway is Tiadora, the same woman who gave you her veil in the prison, but while there she came garbed in mourning black, now she wears a long dress of diaphanous white and shimmering silver. It makes her look very nearly angelic.

    "Dearest, there you are. We were beginning to worry you wouldn't make it," the blonde woman says, her sharp green eyes looking you up and down with cold consideration, "And you're filthy. Well, this will not do. Inside, now."

    As you cross the threshold, your skin prickles violently and your teeth ache like you just bit into a lump of ice. You recognise the signs at once - this humble little manor house is warded by potent magics, and had Tiadora not extended you an invitation you would have been destroyed the second you set foot within its walls.

    Inside, the manor house is as well appointed as any demense of the nobility, complete with thick red carpets on the floor and portraits of heroic looking men and women upon the walls. A broad fireplace burns merrily against the wall (but where does the smoke go, for you saw none on your way in…) and small wooden tables set with food and drink on silver platters are placed unobtrusively in the corners. Most striking, however, is the veritable platoon of servants who await you, men and women in traditional livery standing in a long line with heads bowed and eyes turned politely to the floor as you and your ragged band of escapees come before them.

    "These people are our guests," Tiadora says imperiously, "See them to their rooms. I want them washed, dressed and refreshed, ready to meet the master. Quickly."

    Something about that last word has the air of a threat, and certainly the servants take it as such, hurrying forward to bow and murmur quietly and split your group up as they lead each of you away. Lisara sighs with relief at being attended to as she no doubt expects, but you are a little more uncertain.

    Article:
    Valka tests perception, DC15, roll is 17+6 = 23. Success.


    Perhaps because of that lack of certainty, but you find yourself noticing something as the pair of servants assigned to you escort you up the stairs and through a set of double doors. Their soft smiles, the faint slur in their voices, the way they don't even seem to look at you… these people are enchanted, much as the late and unlamented Sergeant Blackerly was.

    Except… you cannot feel any magic around them now. There ought to be some traces, especially when you know what to look for, but there are not. You've heard that repeated use of enchantment magic over the course of days or weeks can have long-term impacts, wearing down the will until the mind begins to reinforce its own subjugation, but this is the first time you've seen such a thing in person.

    Article:
    How does this make you feel?

    [ ] [Thralls] Approving and Covetous
    Trust is a luxury for any covert group, and enchantment is a lot more reliable than mere bribery or self-interest. If you'd had access to such magic to secure the loyalty of your aids and contacts, perhaps the Inquisitors would have never found you.

    [ ] [Thralls] Cautious and Uncomfortable
    You've always been uncomfortable with the idea of violating another's will like this, and you prefer to avoid it whenever possible. Apparently your new benefactor does not feel the same way. You will need to be careful to avoid him ensnaring you in similar chains.

    (QM note - This is a bit of a meta vote. Think of it in terms of what kind of minions (and what relationship with said minions) you want Valka to have.

    'Approving and Covetous' means going Full Sauron, One Ring to Rule Them All and In The Darkness Bind Them.

    'Cautious and Uncomfortable' locks you out of that path, but leaves others (like undead or weird cultists or sith apprentices) open.


    Such thoughts are easily pushed aside, however, when you at last reach your assigned room and find within the very definition of paradise. The bed is large and soft, the clothes on the rack are better fit for a noble, and more important than anything else, there is a large bath of steaming hot water waiting for you in the corner.

    The Church of Mitra preaches that the brand on your arm marks you as Forsaken, damned in soul as surely as you are condemned in flesh. If being damned means getting pampered like this on a regular basis… you think you can live with it.

    Article:
    Having escaped Branderscar Prison, and been given a place to properly rest and recuperate, Valka is now Level 2.

    First, choose a Thesis, indicating the particular direction of your magical studies and the benefits you reap from it:

    [ ] [Thesis] Experimental Spellshaping
    Your gift lies in modifying and adjusting the structure of spells as you cast them, allowing for far more varied effects. You gain additional spellshape (also known as metamagic) feats, and can swap them out on a daily basis as suits your intended pursuits.

    [ ] [Thesis] Improved Familiar Attunement
    You specialise in building and developing a mystic bond with another creature, allowing you to draw greater strength and flexibility from your familiar than most wizards can even begin to imagine. You gain a familiar, and any familiars you have now or in the future have extra abilities.

    [ ] [Thesis] Staff Nexus
    You prefer to work with runes and other enchanted items where possible, and are an expert in getting more out of them than others. You can create magical staffs, and when you do, they gain additional spells and are easier to charge than those of other wizards.

    -/-

    Next, choose a Class feat, something that makes you better at being a wizard.

    [ ] [Class] Spellbook Prodigy
    You are a master of magical writing and academic study. Learning a new spell takes ten minutes. All critical failures become normal failures, costing no resources, all successes become critical successes, costing half the normal resources.

    [ ] [Class] Counterspell
    When a foe casts a spell which you have prepared, you can expend a spell slot to attempt to counter that spell. You roll your spellcasting attack roll against a DC of the enemy caster's save DC, and on a success you negate the spell entirely.

    [ ] [Class] Familiar
    You gain a familiar, a bonded animal who can share its senses and provide other benefits, selected each day. If you select this and the Improved Familiar thesis, your familiar can benefit from twice as many abilities.

    -/-

    Finally, choose a Skill Feat, allowing you to do more with a specific skill in which you are trained:

    [ ] [Skill] Alchemical Crafting
    You are able to craft alchemical items, such as potions, elixirs and bombs. You require formulae to do this, and gain four of them for free.

    [ ] [Skill] Battle Medicine
    You can perform a Treat Wounds check for one action in combat, instead of ten minutes outside of it, restoring HP as normal. A target can benefit from this once per day.

    [ ] [Skill] Dubious Knowledge
    You are a font of information, not all of it verified. When you fail a skill check to know something about a target, I will provide you with two pieces of information about it, one correct and one incorrect.
     
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    Talingarde - A History
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    • Talingarde - A History​

    This island has known many masters in its time. The archaeological record indicates that orcs, giants, trolls, iruxi and naatunak (sentient polar bears) have all held great kingdoms dominating significant swathes of the isle at various points, along with a number of others whose identity is still only speculated. The history of the Kingdom of Talingarde, however, begins with the Dwarves of the Ansgar Mountains. During their Golden Age, the dwarves constructed settlements the length and breadth of the island, many of which were abandoned or downsized as their fortunes waned - the current capital of Mathryn is built on just such a foundation.

    As the Dwarves fell back to their oldest and most powerful holdings in the mountains, the vacuum they left behind was filled by the native humans - the Iraen of the south, and the Yutak of the north. Both were subsequently displaced by the arrival of the Talireans, invaders who came from overseas. It is unclear where the Talireans originated, nor how exactly humans and elves came to view themselves as a single ethnic group, but their power was undeniable, and they conquered all before them. The Iraen and reptilian Iruxi were pushed into the western rainforests, the Yutak and Jotun into the north, and the dwarves were conquered and incorporated wholesale.

    Notably, the Talireans of this era were by no means unified, and for an age a dozen or more petty kingdoms vied for control over the isle. Eventually one of them triumphed, a great Elven hero named Barca, who founded the Kingdom of Talingarde and the dynasty that bore his (possibly her) name. For centuries their rule endured, one King then another taking the crown, often in bloody coups or tragically convenient accidents, until at last it all came to an end some eighty years ago.

    The House of Darius

    The current reigning family, the House of Darius, began with a marriage between an Elf of the ruling family and the human Duke of Mathryn. While they still hold enough Elvish blood in their veins to give them sharp senses and lifespans measuring in the centuries, they are not full blooded elves, something the older families have never let them forget. They needed an alternate source of power and legitimacy, and in the Cult of Mitra they found it.

    Under the Barcans, Talingarde paid homage to many gods, more or less equally (though naturally different sections favoured their own divinities - the royal family were known as devout adherents of Asmodeus, who encouraged their ambitious politicking and ruthless power-grabs). Markadian of House Darius, by contrast, honoured Mitra alone, and when the old King died and Jaraad of House Barca sought to ascend, he pressed his distant familial claim to the throne and rose up in rebellion. On the Plains of Tamberlyn, the smaller and poorer Darian army met the great host of King Jaraad, and in a stunning upset carried the day.

    Markadian I, called The Victorious, ruled for forty six years. His personal prowess and strategic acumen were never once bested, and in a series of brilliant campaigns he defeated the Bugbears of the north, the pirates of the western coast and the rebellious lords of the south. He made peace with the Yutak and arranged the diplomatic annexation of the last independent Dwarven enclaves, and though he championed Mitra alone he allowed the other gods their due. Even his most bitter rivals - several of whom are still alive - recognise that he was a great and worthy king.

    His sons, however, were a different story. The eldest son, Martius (who took the regnal name Markadian II), was more a scholar than a statesman, and though he founded many schools and patronised the nation's great universities, he paid little attention to affairs of state. His younger brother, Hallen, was a charismatic warrior and leader of men, one who idolised his departed father and wished nothing more than to be like him. Indeed, so strongly did Hallen worship his father that he concluded his departed mother could not have been a mortal at all - surely, Markadian I had taken an angel for a bride, for what mortal woman was worthy of him? Surely, in turn, that meant Hallen was of divine stock, and infinitely more worthy than his bookish older brother to uphold their father's legacy?

    Markadian II, called the Learned, reigned for just six years before his brother slaughtered him with a burning sword and proclaimed himself King Markadian III, the Immortal. Despite the sobriquet, Hallen died less than six months later, attempting to fly (or perhaps thrown) from the tallest tower of the palace like the angel he claimed to be.

    Markadian IV, the son of Martius, ascended to the throne at less than twenty years of age. With his family's legacy teetering and the wolves closing in, he knew he needed bold, decisive action if he was to retain his crown. So he found a scapegoat. In open court he proclaimed that the Cult of Asmodeus - already out of favour for its ties to the previous dynasty - had summoned a devil to possess his poor uncle and drive him mad, for surely no less would explain why the heroic Prince Hallen had killed his beloved elder brother in cold blood.

    The brutal series of purges that followed would fundamentally transform the state of Talingarde. Where before the Talireans had paid homage to a pantheon of divinities, with Mitra the first among equals, now they worship Mitra alone. The cults of those gods judged wicked were violently destroyed, their priests burned and their property confiscated. The faiths of those gods deemed largely benign were systematically marginalised and then ground out of existence, while the Church of Mitra was enshrined as the state religion. For his deeds, Markadian IV was sainted by the church and officially recorded by the sobriquet "the Pious". To most outside the cult, however, he will forever be known as the Zealot.

    (Markaddian IV died screaming the day before his 40th birthday, consumed body and mind by a mysterious illness that not even the greatest priests of Mitra could cure. There is, perhaps, a lesson in that.)

    The current King, Markadian V, has ruled for sixteen years. As a prince he commanded the Watch Fortress Balentyne and held it against a vicious assault by the northern tribes, a deed that earned him the sobriquet of 'the Brave', and as King he has overseen a considerable expansion of Talingarde's military capabilities, openly speaking of his intent to "finish what great-grandfather started" and bring the whole island under one rule. The biggest scandal of his rule remains the birth of his daughter and sole heir - the King steadfastly refuses to identify her mother, save to insist that she was a good and noble woman taken from them in childbirth.
     
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    • VIII - Enter the Cardinal
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    • The vote for your attitude was "Cautious and Uncomfortable". Valka does not like using enchantment magic on people unless she absolutely has to.

    You picked Staff Nexus for your thesis, and learned the Spellbook Prodigy and Alchemical Crafting feats. I'll put together a "formula book" for that last one later.

    You send the servants out of the room, ignoring their muted protests and offers to help you prepare. A young lady of your background knows more than enough to take care of her own grooming, and more importantly than that, the presence of mind-washed thralls while you are bathing and dressing is just uncomfortable. You've never made use of such magics before, and you don't intend to start now, even by proxy.

    Still, personal discomfort aside, your rooms have everything you could ask for. You soak yourself in the tub, feeling the aches and pains of long imprisonment and desperate flight fade away to leave you whole and pure once more. You feast on hot bread and cold meat, filling a hollow space inside that you barely even realised existed. You braid your hair in front of the mirror, lace chains of gold and silver around your neck and wrists, and have to spend a few minutes sitting there before you can master the will to get moving again. It has been so long since last you felt like yourself, and the sight of your reflection in the mirror causes your heart to ache with that familiar loss.

    You didn't see any dwarves among the serving staff, but it seems at least some of them are familiar with your people, because the clothes in the wardrobe are all exactly what you would expect to see. Elves and the humans who ape their fashions tend to like long, flowing garments of sheer fabric, but dwarf fashion is all about layers. A clan matriarch getting done up for a formal event can take hours to get ready with the aid of an entire team of assistants, but for tonight you content yourself with just three, not countering the underclothes - a simple dress of pale blue, a darker tabard to wear over the top, and then a shawl to cover your arms and shoulders. The only thing missing is the sash where you would hang your knife, but the Talireans took that from you, and you'll not draw attention to its lack.

    You've just about finished getting done up properly when a knock at the door heralds one of the older servants.

    "The master wishes to see you, ma'am," he says, eyes downcast, and you take a short breath to steady yourself.

    "Then lead on."

    The servant leads you through the upper level of the manor and towards what appears to be a private office. Lisara emerges as you arrive, likewise washed and dressed, though you notice she has gone for a jerkin and long trousers instead of a proper dress. The elf looks you over briefly, opens her mouth as if to speak, then pauses with a faintly troubled expression and turns away. Part of you wants to hurry after her, to seize her by the arm and get some answers, but the servant is already ushering you inside and you know how powerful people hate to be kept waiting.

    The room is beautifully appointed in the old Barcan style, filled with dark wooden furniture and sumptuous brocade tapestry. In the middle of it all, a tall human in long dark robes sits behind a desk, hairless save for thick black eyebrows and a neatly trimmed beard. He smiles at you when you enter, and his dark eyes twinkle with some hidden mirth.



    "Ah, Miss Valka, welcome," he says in a warm baritone, gesturing to a high-backed chair on the other side of his desk, "please, sit. Congratulations are in order, I believe, for you are the very first prisoner to escape from Branderscar Prison since it was founded."

    "Did you say that to Lisara as well?" you say, taking the seat and folding your hands in your lap. You can't let yourself forget that this is the man who mind-washed all those servants out there, nor that he has some plan for your future.

    "It was a group effort, to be sure, and with a little aid from outside," the bald man allows with a chuckle, "But do not let such things detract from the magnitude of your accomplishment. Speaking of which - before we begin, I have something for you."

    He sets a small wooden casket on the table, unlatches it, and turns it towards you. There, sitting on a bed of velvet and polished to perfection, is a deeply familiar knife. Your hand flashes out faster than a serpent to grab it, holding it to your breast like a babe as your heart pounds like a drum, but there is no mistaking it. This is your knife, the very first one you ever owned.

    "I…" you begin to say, before your throat closes up and all you can manage is a plaintive "How?"

    "Compared to breaking its mistress out of Branderscar, it was no great trial," your benefactor says humbly, "A few questions, a discrete bribe, a theft - it was going to be auctioned off, as are most things that belong to those condemned as Forsaken, but I felt paying for it would have been a poor way to begin."

    You nod stiffly, clutching the blade close. Your uncle forged this dagger, when first he learned his sister was with child, and its razor edge was the first to taste your blood when it severed the birthing cord. Every dwarf worthy of the name carries one, and the moment they took it from you was the moment you knew you were going to die.

    "Then it seems I owe you twice over," you say after a moment, mastering yourself with an effort, "yet I do not know your name."

    "Ah, of course. How ungracious of me," the bald man inclines his head to you in acknowledgement, "I am Adrastus Thorn, High Priest of Asmodeus in Talingarde."

    You blink, taken utterly aback. You know of the Lord of Hell of course, his name was invoked often in the old historical texts you studied, but the Adversary and his cult were only ever that - history, a relic long since wiped from the soul of Talingarde.

    "I… didn't realise there was yet such a church in Talingarde," you say cautiously, desperately dredging up everything you remember of Asmodeus and his faith.

    Article:
    Valka tests to Recall Knowledge. DC is 15, roll is 11+6=17, pass.

    Asmodeus is the Lord of Hell and the Master of Devils. He delights in creating hierarchies and laws that the clever and ruthless can exploit for their own personal advantage, and which keep all others in their place.

    His Edicts are:
    • Negotiate contracts to your best advantage
    • Rule tyrannically, using fear and pain as your favoured tools.
    • Show subservience to your betters.

    He regards the following acts as Anathema:
    • Breaking a contract
    • Sharing power with the weak
    • Showing mercy to your enemies


    "We have been forced to shelter in obscurity," Thorn admits with a nod, "Once the Prince of Nessus was revered on this isle, rightly respected alongside his peers and subordinates in the Old Pantheon, but after the Zealot's purges… well, you are a dwarf. You know all too well what happened to those faiths who dared to oppose the Mitran orthodoxy."

    You nod cautiously. Your people have always worshipped their ancestors, respecting those who built the foundation right the way back to Grandfather Earth who created you and taught you the secrets of stone and metal. Such teachings are not forbidden under current law, but they must be taught with care, making sure never to contradict wider Mitran orthodoxy in even the smallest particulars, and it is the Sun God's teachings that law demands be taught in schools.

    "You didn't save us out of altruism or fellow feeling," you observe at length, "You want something from us."

    "I do," Thorn nods, "Specifically, I want your help. It is my intention to tear the House of Darius from their ill-gotten throne, break the stranglehold of the Mitran church over the people, and repay every insult and injury done by those self-righteous fanatics twice over. For such great work I will need allies, and in you I believe I have found them."

    You exhale softly, fighting to control your shock. You knew that the man who sent aid to you in Branderscar would have ambitions and an agenda of his own, but this is far beyond anything you would have conceived of. To plot not just regicide and rebellion, but the complete overthrow of the social and religious order which binds Talingarde from one shore to another… you would call it madness, and yet something about Thorn's manner tells you otherwise.

    "I will not sell my soul," you say flatly, clutching your dagger close, "I owe you much, but not that."

    Adrastus Thorn laughs, as though you have told some kind of joke.

    "Of course not!" he says easily, "Nor would I expect you to. A soul such as yours should command the highest price you can get for it. No, the terms I seek for our partnership are far less onerous."

    From within his desk, the High Priest draws forth a long scroll of some strange leather, which he unrolls across the table before you. Inked carefully across its surface are the terms of an infernal contract, one sanctified in the eyes of Hell and registered in its courts. It is written in the language of devils, a language favoured by both spellcasters and legal professionals for the precision of its vocabulary. There are few in Talingarde these days who know the tongue, and most of those pretend otherwise to avoid unwanted attention from the Mitran Inquisition - you not least among them.

    Article:
    The Pact Of Thorns

    The infernal contract that Adrastus Thorn presents you is a highly complicated legal document. Valka, being an intelligent woman with experience in arcane and academic texts, can surmise the key points as follows:
    1. The primary clause in the contract is one of loyalty to Asmodeus. You are bound to aid the Devil God in returning his faith to Talingarde, and to never knowingly work against his interests here or abroad. This is the sole perpetual clause in the contract, with no end date.
    2. All other terms have a clearly defined end date - the death of King Markadian V, and the crowning of a new monarch who is not of his House or Dynasty.
    3. The contract establishes Cardinal Adrastus Thorn as your master and superior. You are obliged to obey his commands, serve his interests and do him no harm.
    4. The contract mandates fair dealing with the Cardinal's other servants - you must stick to any agreements you make with them and divide any spoils of your efforts between all those who contributed to attaining them.
    5. Cardinal Thorn is likewise bound by certain obligations - to train and equip you, to give you no orders he believes you cannot complete, and to reward you appropriately for your services.
    6. Throughout the text, there are a number of explicitly carved out rights and privileges for those who agree to serve; to wit, you are permitted to seek out and obtain personal power, wealth and authority. Thorn is not required to grant these things to you, but neither can he actively prevent you from obtaining them.
    7. There is an open space in the contract for additional terms.


    Some minutes later, you exhale slowly and sit back in your chair.

    "This final section," you say, indicating a blank space on the contract, "What is it for?"

    "Ambition," Thorn says with a gleam in his eyes, "Specifically, yours. My Lord understands the power of such things, and through his teachings I have learned the wisdom of allowing one's agents to name their price. Thus, a final boon - when we succeed, when Markadian is dead and Asmodeus returned to his rightful place in the hearts of the people, you may name for yourself a boon, and I shall be bound by contract to grant it."

    You swallow, suddenly deeply aware of the heights to which such ambition could take you, and the depths to which an unwary step could condemn you. "I.. .see. Are there limits?"

    "Some few. I will not give you my death, nor undo that which we have worked for," Thorn chuckles, "But past that… my power is great, and that of my allies and patrons greater still. I could work miracles for you, if only you would ask for them."

    Article:
    What boon do you ask for, what victory do you pursue? I encourage you to think carefully about the wording. This is, after all, a deal with the devil.

    [ ] Name Your Price (Write in)

    QM Note - There will be no vote on whether or not to sign this contract. Adrastus Thorn is a paranoid, ruthless and supremely dangerous man. The mere knowledge that the Cult of Asmodeus yet exists and is actively working towards regicide is too dangerous for him to risk exposure.

    Valka will either sign the contract, or she will not make it out of the room alive.
     
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    • Voting Options Expanded
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    • Alright we've had a lot of discussion but all of three votes, which I suspect was probably because I went and said "be very careful about your wording" and everyone decided they'd see what someone else came up with. So! I'm going to take the opportunity to step in and offer vote options based on the discussion. For these ones, don't worry too much about the wording, since it's a QM offered thing I'll assume Valka and Thorn hammer out more specific wording to cover any obvious loopholes etc.

    Choose One of the following to ask for:

    [ ] A New Kingdom
    When Talingarde comes under new rulership, Adrastus Thorn will ensure that the new monarch recognises your ancestral claims to the Ansgar Mountains, supporting with troops, gold and resources the creation of an independent and sovereign Dwarven kingdom.

    [ ] Freedom of Faith
    You've no interest in replacing one tyrannical faith with another. The contract guarantees that the Church of Asmodeus will recognise the legitimacy of Dwarven faith and permit its teaching and worship, neither oppressing it directly nor allowing others to do so unopposed.

    [ ] Wealth of the Earth
    The contract will grant Valka proprietary and exclusive claim on all metal and precious stones beneath the surface of Talingarde for a full century. Such leverage will make her extraordinarily wealthy, and with such wealth she may pursue other projects and ambitions at her leisure, without relying on the Devil God and his cult.

    [ ] A Favour
    It is folly to commit yourself to such an uncertain future. Instead, require only this - a single service of Valka's choosing, commensurate with the effort she invests in seeing Thorn's ambitions fulfilled, to be named at a future date and fulfilled by the Cardinal or his agents.

    [ ] Write-in
     
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    • IX - Signed in Blood
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    • For a moment you consider asking for a Kingdom, or the wealth to forge one yourself… but no. You cannot build such a thing without the support of those who would be its citizens, and that you do not have. Perhaps you can muster it in the months and years to come, but if you cannot, it would be better by far to leave the Cult of Asmodeus uninvolved. The last thing you want is to have Thorn bound by contract to force your people into the mountains at the point of spear and spell.

    "Faith," you say at last, "I want my faith protected."

    Thorn raises one dark eyebrow in a silent expression of doubt. "A strange demand to make of a foreign priest."

    "You'll bring the Adver… Asmodeus back to this land, break the Mitrans, establish your Church as the law of the land, fine. I'll help you do it," you say, trying to balance the importance of this boon with the danger of revealing vulnerability and failing miserably, "But I don't want to go back to how it was before. No charges of blasphemy for calling Grandfather our creator, no Inquisitors rooting through ancestral records, no royal commands for a church built in our neighbourhoods."

    The devil's priest considers your words for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Acceptable, in principle. I will not, I note, accept a ban on all preaching. When we win, and usher in the new age, my faithful must be free to at least present their case."

    You wince at that, but you cannot fairly say it is unreasonable. Your people have held to their ways and their faith in the face of a cult backed by law and royal decree for centuries now - they can withstand a lighter voice in a growing chorus, with the strength of their ancestors behind them.

    "Agreed," you say, and so it is done. It takes another half-bell to fully workshop a framework that satisfies the both of you, one that offers protection to your people without making an enemy of the church you intend to aid, but soon the existing contract is joined by another few paragraphs of diabolic text in shining ink.

    "Then we have a deal," Adrastus Thorn says with a smile, producing a small silver bowl and surgeon's scalpel that he sets down on the table next to the contract, "Let us make it official, shall we? Signing in blood is traditional."

    You swallow, suddenly nervous… but no, you've made your decision. You will not permit yourself to falter now. Steadying your hand with an iron will, you pick up the scalpel and draw it neatly across the back of your arm, grimacing as it cuts through your skin with nary a whisper of resistance. Blood, thick and red, trickles down into the silver bowl, and after a moment Thorn whispers a word and your flesh seals itself up again.

    You take a quill from the small stand on the desk, dip it in the bowl, and with exquisite care sign your name upon the contract in blood.

    "Well done," Thorn says approvingly, and with a flick of his hand the contract disappears into nothing. "The first order I give you is this - rest. The Darians are seeking you and your comrades, and it will take me some time to misdirect them. So, for the next three days, you are to do nothing but remain in this manor and recover your strength."

    You nod cautiously. Part of you wants to ask how exactly Thorn intends to solve the issue of your ongoing pursuit, but given you have no way to verify his words you might as well trust him to take care of it. "I could use certain supplies…"

    "Ah, yes. A spellbook and so forth," Thorn nods, "They will be provided. Still, I encourage you to take the chance to rest. When I return your training will begin, and following that, your first mission. This is likely to be your last chance at leisure for quite some time."

    You know a dismissal when you hear it, and so with a stiff-necked bow, you take your leave of the Cardinal and his office. As you depart you see Dorgo coming the other way, the mighty orc warrior led to this meeting by a downcast servant. As Lisara did before you, you consider speaking with him… and then you turn and walk away.

    Article:
    By Thorn's command, you have three days to spend in rest and relaxation in this manor. First, choose how Valka prefers to spend her time when she is relaxing.

    [ ] Reading
    The library comes stocked with a variety of fictional works of various genres, and the armchair by the fireplace is very comfortable.

    [ ] Feasting
    Cracking Blackerly's safebox reveals a dozen good bottles of whiskey, and the kitchens prove able to serve food from all corners of Talingarde.

    [ ] Sketching
    A good pad of paper and some charcoal is all you need to occupy you, and there are no end of potential subjects to spy on and ambush in the manor.

    Choose one of your fellow escapees to get to know better during this time.

    [ ] Lisara, the elvish swashbuckler
    The charismatic noblewoman appears to be celebrating her freedom in excessive and perhaps slightly desperate fashion, which is to say by getting drunk, high, and laid.

    [ ] Mikael, the human monk
    The former acolyte appears entirely unused to leisure, and does not quite know what to do with himself now that he has some. The chance to reflect on his situation does not agree with him.

    [ ] Dorgo, the orc druid
    The northerner paces the halls of the manor like a caged lion, clearly uncomfortable and itching for an outlet, all too eager for conversation as an outlet.


    -/-

    Branderscar Prison

    On a windswept cliff above the eastern seas, Mathias Richter ground his teeth and cursed every devil, saint and grasping relative that had brought him to this point. The strongest, most fearsome prison in all of Talingarde, breached - and on his watch! His subordinates murdered, his prisoners escaped, and his reputation in ruins. He'd been ready and willing to call this the single worst day of his life before the Inquisitors arrived.

    "Tell me, Lord Richter," High Inquisitor Solomon Tyrath said, his voice dangerously gentle, "are you complicit, or merely incompetent?"



    Damn you, Gaius.

    The thought was not a new one, but in recent days it had taken on a new and virulent tone whenever it came to mind. Mathias hadn't sought out this posting, would have been quite content with a long and relaxing retirement, but his nephew wouldn't have it. He'd pulled strings, paid bribes, and ultimately gotten his doddering old uncle a prestigious posting to fill his last days. The fact that Mathias had no interest in or experience with the prison system meant nothing in comparison to the potential glory of House Richter.

    "I'm not sure what you mean, my lord," he said, keeping his voice as level as he could.

    "No?" Lord Tyrath voiced it like a question, but his expression did not move even a hair. He might have been carved from mountain stone for all the humanity he showed. "Old locks. Minimal guards. Limited equipment - even the food in the emergency supplies rotted and useless. If Branderscar were an active castle, I would call such negligence outright treasonous."

    He spoke the word without any particular inflection, and despite himself Mathias could not help but shiver. At a single nod from the High Inquisitor the soldiers nearby would clap him in chains and drop him into the sea, and not a single soul for a mile around would dare to protest.

    Damn you, Tomas.

    It should have been the sergeant standing here, feeling his life hanging in the balance, but the escaping prisoners had left him dead in the courtyard when they escaped. He'd brought the man in for a private chat two days after getting the position, confessed that his appointment was basically entirely driven by political concerns, and generally agreed to stay out of the way and leave the management of the prison to someone who knew what they were doing. Until now, everything that he'd seen merely confirmed the decision as the correct one. For close to a year the prison had kept ticking along with Blackerley at the helm, and in all that time they'd never had a single problem.

    Well. He might have been blind and also a fool, but let nobody say that Mathias Richter was a coward.

    "I have no excuse, my lord," he said firmly, lifting his chin and staring his death in the face, "The failure, and the responsibility, are mine alone."

    Solomon Tyrath stared at him, his gaze like a spear thrust through Mathias' entire body… then he nodded. "Indeed it is, Lord Richter. Fortunately, our Shining Lord is familiar with human weakness, and has seen fit to grant you a chance to atone. Sir Havelyn, step forward."

    From the assembled ranks of the soldiery stepped forth a knight. His armour was polished silver and his tabard a rich ocean blue, and with a start Mathias recognised him. This was the young knight who had first brought that ogre in as a prisoner, having slain the rest of his bandit troop near single-handed before subduing the last of them for trial.

    "Sir Havelyn here is one of our faith's most promising paladins," Lord Tyrath said, the merest hint of his acknowledgement drawing the young man taut like a string, "He has a theory that this escape is connected to an ongoing investigation of his. You are hereby seconded to his mission, to provide him with whatever aid your meagre gifts can."

    Mathias opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with a snap. Legally speaking not even the High Inquisitor had the power to command such a thing… but if Mathias refused, then Lord Tyrath would turn his baleful gaze on not just his own failures, but the whole string of influence and favour trading that had seen him rise to this position in the first place. Gaius might be an arrogant little shit, but he was still family.

    "I understand, Lord Tyrath, Sir Havelyn," he said, the words sharp and bitter in his mouth, "When do we leave?"
     
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    • X - The Cruel Tutelage of Adrastus Thorn
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    • Three days of complete leisure is something nearly unprecedented for you. Your family was reasonably secure, but even as a child you were encouraged to help out with a variety of minor tasks and responsibilities to gain the necessary experience and maturity, and of course an independent woman has no end of chores to attend to alongside her trade. Here the servants take care of all of that, leaving you initially at something of a loss for how to occupy yourself.

    Eventually, you resort to asking one of the staff for paper and charcoal, and with those tools in hand you give yourself over to one of your oldest hobbies - sketching. Safely ensconced in comfortable armchairs around the manor you take to drawing what you see, from portraits of servants to copies of the art on the wall, and when that well of inspiration runs dry you turn to your memories. The sketch of Branderscar as seen from the beach is, you think, one of the best you have ever done, and some mischievous part of you is already thinking of finding a way to auction it off as a quiet boast.

    Your fellow escapees exchange a few stray words now and then, but for the most part each of you occupy yourselves in your own ways. Mikael wanders the halls for the first day before ultimately striking up a training routine with the lumbering ogre Grumblejack, while the few times you see Lisara she's either deep in her cups, surrounded by a faint cloud or narcotic smoke, or dragging one of the servants off to her bedroom. You can't tell if she's unaware of the enchantments they're under or simply uncaring, and frankly the idea of bringing it up in conversation is so viscerally uncomfortable you choose not to think about it.

    The only one who doesn't seem capable of settling into a comfortable routine is Dorgo, the orc shaman, who prowls the halls of the manor like a caged beast and snarls at anyone who gets too close. After the third time he distracts you from your sketching, you set the pad down with a thump.

    "Will you stop that?" You say, glaring at the orc even as he rounds on you, "You're ruining my concentration."

    "I can't stand it," Dorgo growls, pacing back and forth along the corridor in front of you now, "We have traded one prison for another."

    "You signed the contract, did you not?" you ask a tad waspishly, "Live with it."

    "Hah! I'd be dead if I did not," the orc snorts, looking over at you as if half-expecting you to disagree, but you just frown. Yes, obviously the ruthless devil-cultist would have you killed rather than extend the hand of trust. "Mm. Not blind, then. Good. The slaves all seem to think they are free. I do not want that."

    "Of course they do, they've been enchanted," you sigh, shaking your head, "But yes. Right now, we are prisoners. Even if our new master was inclined to let us wander freely, we cannot risk the outside world, not while the Talireans hunt us."

    Dorgo pauses at that, then stalks over to take a seat in the chair opposite you, warming his hands by the fireplace. You watch him curiously, noting the scars that seem to cover every part of his leathery green hide. Far too many to have been all sustained in battle, certainly. Ritual purposes, perhaps?

    "You say 'Talireans'," he offers after a moment, "As if they are not your people."

    "Their people conquered mine long ago," you grumble, shaking your head, trying not to think how few differences there truly are between the men of Talingarde and the Dwarves these days. "We had our kingdoms, once, our mighty halls of stone, our deep shrines where the ancestors watched. No more. I've never even seen them myself, but that doesn't make Talingarde my home."

    (And if it ever did, well, the brand on your arm has put paid to that.)

    "I see," Dorgo says quietly, his red eyes studying you thoughtfully. He does not offer sympathies, and you find that you appreciate that. "Tell me of them? Your mountains."

    "Why?" You scowl, "Why would you care?"

    "It is my duty. I am a shaman, a priest of the wilds. We remember, so that the tribes who lose their sons do not lose their ancestors," Dorgo says seriously, before offering you a toothy grin, "If it helps, we can trade. Story for story, your mountains and my forests."

    You hesitate for a moment, then nod. "Very well."

    And so you sit by the fire and speak. You speak of the Ansgarian mountains, of the snow-capped peaks and fertile valleys, of watch-fires burning and herds moving across the scree. You speak of kings with crowns of gold, of silver doors and water pure as diamond. You speak of the depths, of the great chasms that echoed with the voice of the ancestors, of the ancient vaults where the most valued of treasures were kept. You speak of every story you know, every legend you can recall, every ragged scrap of your people's history that you have ever managed to claim.

    Dorgo repays you in kind, speaking in low and rolling tones of the people he has left behind. He tells you of the wolves that hunt beneath forests of darkest pine, of eagles that soar through azure skies, of fish that leap up crashing waterfalls. He tells you of the orcs, roaming nomadic across the plains, of the naatunak who work great wonders with their ursine claws, of ice elves in their halls of light. He tells you of the great trading camps, where the men of the Yutak sell their wares to any who care to buy, and of the blessed fields where warriors clash in feats of skill and valour. Of legends handed down by word of mouth for a hundred generations or more, that the heroes of old may never be forgotten.

    You take to sketching as he talks, seeking to capture the vistas you have never seen in lines of black and white. It's a surprisingly pleasant way to spend the time.

    -/-

    Article:
    Adrastus Thorn has provided your party with the following items:

    • Four Iron Circlets, which allow you to cast Illusionary Disguise on yourself.
    • Valka is given a Staff of Elemental Power and a Crafter's Eyepiece. She is also provided with a spellbook (spells listed under her character sheet on the front page) and a portable alchemist's lab.
    • Lisara is given a +1 Striking Rapier and Boots of Free Running (Lesser)
    • Mikael is given a set of +1 Striking Handwraps of Mighty Blows
    • Dorgo is given an Animal Staff and a Wand of Heal (2nd level)
    • Every party member is given a Lesser Healing Potion


    Three days after you signed your life away, Adrastus Thorn returns to the manor. The servant who tells you this brings with them a small hoard of magical equipment, ranging from a full set of robes designed for all weathers to an enchanted staff that thrums with elemental power. You take the time to grow properly acquainted with each, in between filling out the blank pages of your new spellbook with those incantations and rituals that you recall, and when the Cardinal summons you all later that day you are ready to begin your training.

    "In every plan, there comes a point at which one must set aside guile, move beyond cunning," the Cardinal says sternly, his voice echoing from the stone walls of the cave, "Where one must trust in the oldest and surest of virtues - that of pure and simple might."

    He has brought you below for this lecture, leading you down a hidden staircase at the back of the manor to a hidden cave half a mile distant. Here the waters of a nearby river have eroded the rock of the hill to form a natural cave, which directed labour has expanded into a private harbour. Your team clusters along the small strip of dry land at the back of the cavern, while Thorn stands on the surface of the dark water a dozen paces distant, as if gravity is too afraid to drag him down beneath the waves.

    "In the coming months I will test you, individually and as a team," the Cardinal continues, fixing you all with a dark and judgemental gaze, "You will learn to fight together against a myriad of foes, until you know the skills and capabilities of your teammates so well you will not even need to think about coordination. Only with such strength, such unity of thought and deed, will you be able to prevail against an entire nation."

    You work your jaw, glancing around the cavern at your comrades. Mikael and Dorgo are both nodding, seemingly confident in their chances and understanding what is being asked of them, but Lisara seems nervous. You suppose the path of the duelist is not one that lends itself well to teamwork and coordination. Of course, neither is that of a bookkeeper turned arcanist.

    "Understand this - while I will not let you die, that is where my mercy ends," Thorn says darkly, regarding you as he might meat on the butcher's counter, "If I must regenerate your sundered flesh and breathe life back into flayed and ruined bodies then that is what I will do, and in your torment you may learn another lesson. Now. Let us begin."

    There is a pulse of magic, more felt than seen, and from beneath the dark waters of the bay emaciated figures begin to rise. Men and women in the uniform of Talirean sailors lurch slowly upright, their pale flesh bloated with decay, their rotting hands clutching barnacle-encrusted blades. There is hate in their eyes, or in the gaping wounds where such delicate organs once rested, and with burbling moans they advance.

    Article:
    Adrastus Thorn is a cruel and ruthless man, but he knows his trade well. Under his tutelage, the ragged band of escapees is transformed into a team of deadly operatives. In addition, Thorn identifies your strengths and imparts an additional lesson to you.

    Choose One:

    [ ] Reveal No Weakness
    You gain +1 Strength and proficiency in light and medium armour.

    [ ] Strike First, Strike Without Mercy
    You gain +1 Dexterity and the Incredible Initiative feat (+2 on initiative rolls)

    [ ] You Die When I Say
    You gain +1 Constitution and the Diehard feat.

    [ ] Fear Nothing save our Dread Lord
    You gain +1 Wisdom, and whenever you would gain the Frightened condition, reduce its value by one.

    [ ] Deception is a Tool. Master it.
    You gain +1 charisma and expert proficiency in the deception skill.

    -/-

    As the Cardinal promised, the training he puts you through is brutal and merciless. You know pain, deprivation, terror and the cold certainty of death. How do you cope with this?

    [ ] Work Hard, Play Hard
    You cling to life in defiance of death, blowing off steam however you can. Bright twice as bright, and you'll live twice as long.

    [ ] Look To Tomorrow
    You cling to your dream of a better world, to the rewards that await you for your suffering. It will all be worth it one day.

    [ ] In Fire Forged
    You cling to your comrades, taking comfort in the company of those scant few who truly understand what you all went through.
     
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