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Daishain's Pathfinder: Way Of The Wicked Main Thread

Tallingarde the beautiful, a shining beacon of hope, or at least that is what some would call it.

Oh, the place is pleasant enough for most, the cities clean, the people happy and healthy. Crime is almost nonexistent, and the island nation thrives.

But for anyone who does not fit the Mitran's ideals, well, things are not quite so pleasant. Few can argue that the courts are not fair, they deal with crimes by the high and the low with equal fervor. But the punishments are almost always harsh.

If you were not already aware, you have just learned just how harsh the blade of justice can be in this land. Judged guilty of a serious crime, you have been stripped of everything, and are being sent to Branderskar prison to await your final fate, death by execution, or a life of hard labor in the salt mines.

From multiple parts of the land you have come, but your destination is the same. Castle Branding was once an important coastal fortress, but its military importance came to an end when House Darius won the war of succession eighty years ago. It has since been repurposed into a prison for Tallingarde's worst criminals. Renamed Branderskar, the care of this place has passed through many hands. The title of Warden here is one of distinction and honor, many who held it have gone on to become lords and knights of the realm.

You are transported in a small caravan, Two iron bound wagons surrounded by a score of armed men. Two witch hunters are with them, ready to shut down any magical mischief.

You travel in heavy chains, wrist and ankle manacles attached to a chain binding all four together. The known spellcasters in the group bear an additional impediment, heavy metal gauntlets locked onto the hands. Within them, the wearer's fingers are prevented from moving to form somatic components.

You get a glimpse of Branderscar prison from a distance, but the guards place hoods over your head as the group makes its final approach. You can hear dogs barking as the wagons roll and bump their way across the long bridge, and the rattle of chains as a series of portculli are opened before you.

Eventually, one by one, you are taken from the wagons and led on foot. Forcing you to your knees, the guards finally remove the hoods. You find yourself in a large room of some sort. It might have been an audience chamber once. In addition to the guards you had on the road, another dozen men stand at attention. The new additions wear tabards with Branderscar's sigil on it, a stylized representation of the prison over Mitra's eight pointed sunburst. For each of you, a guard stands on the chain between your legs, with a knee pressed into your back, effectively pinning your lower legs to the ground. After her wild efforts to free herself on the road, the guards took an additional precaution with the incredibly strong barbarian known as Jesla, a collar with two stiff poles attached circles her neck, and two strong men stand braced, forcing her head into a safe position, in addition to the third standing behind her.

Directly before you is a small table, a well lit brazier with some manner of brand shoved into the coals, and two more men. The first is a thin and elderly man in robes denoting him as a priest of Mitra. The other is a greasy looking thug in heavy scale mail. The latter speaks up. "I am Seargent Blackerly, welcome to the last day of your pathetic lives."

Edited: daishain on 13th Nov, 2018 - 12:00am

Thread Main Wicked The Way Pathfinder Daishains

One of the guards hands Blackerly a list, and he goes down the line with it. "Respar, High Treason, looks like we've got a fun one coming up. Jesla, piracy, I can certainly believe it, this one doesn't look fit for decent society. But she's a beauty compared to, lets see… Eya. High treason, and Witchcraft. I suppose we'll just have to burn the body parts after we tear you apart. Finally we have Kiven Aloro, Aloro? So the rumors were true then, this ought to be good. And you're here for High Theft. It'l be the mines for you, those soft hands will be covered in blisters in no time."

Daishain's Pathfinder: Way Of The Wicked Main Thread Archive Pathfinder / D&D

Eya stands lined up with the others. She’s a tiefling, roughly five foot, seven inches tall with a small frame. Her skin is ashen colored and she has two small horns protruding from her head, growing slightly backwards at a low angle. Each horn branches a little and a smaller one protrudes, almost like branches. Her ears are pointy and protrude towards the back of her head. She has multiple piercings along her ears and on the left side of her nose. Her hair is cut relatively short and is a violet color. Her eyes are a dark yellow-orange with thin black slits down the center of them serving as her pupils. Her lips are black and she has a medium length, devilish tail that ends in a triangular tip. Halfway down the tail her skin appears different, hardened, scaly, and almost black in color. The same is true from halfway down her calves down to her feet. Her nails are sharp and black like obsidian.

Eya keeps a calm expression as she studies the room, burning the images of the guard’s faces into memory. Her eyes eventually make their way to the fiery brazier and the branding rod inside it. It doesn’t take her long to study the magic symbols along it. She grits her teeth and her eyes flare up with rage, but only for a moment. As Sergeant Blackerly passes in front of her and finishes his rude comments, she simply snarls, “You’re a dead man,” she pauses for a moment and scans the other guards in the room, “... Along with every other shitstain guard in this room. You better hope and pray your fire is hot enough.”.

Edited: seath on 13th Nov, 2018 - 1:09pm

Thread Main Wicked The Way Pathfinder Daishains

When the Sergeant introduces himself and offers a 'welcome,' Respar grins and says, "Yeah, this will be the final day of this 'pathetic' part of my life. I fully expect things to take a turn for the better… "But the greasy man ignores his remark.

Once the man begins reading their crimes and sentences, Respar is silent. He is counting the number of people in the room, evaluating their skills, which hand they use to wield weapons, what might stay sheathed if a fight breaks out, etc. He does he turn and survey his fellow prisoners as well. Anyone watching him would see he was doing his best to appraise them as well, both professionally, and when it came to the tiefling and the burly barbarian woman, with a more… personal eye. Looking at each he briefly smiles to himself, his thoughts remaining unspoken.

When the tiefling makes her threats, he shakes his head slightly. He's not going to waste his energy on anything like that, nor draw unnecessary attention to himself. To be honest, these folks are doing their job. They might be totally deserving of killing, but for him, escape is his priority. He won't shed a tear if he has to kill any of their guards, but he won't celebrate either. In fact, leaving them alive to answer for losing one of the few prisoners convicted of High Treason in years, would be vengeance enough…

Thread Main Wicked The Way Pathfinder Daishains

Kneeling amongst the others is a tall 6'2" elf with a thin, wiry but strong frame. Although not a drow, the elf's eyes are gray and his perfect skin is so pale that it seems to match. The long, black hair draped over the elf's shoulders is the most color to be found here, especially when he is adorned in such drab prisoner's garb. The elf just gives Blackerly a cold stare with what is one of the more smug looks about him that most others would have ever seen. His arrogance radiates from him so much so that some have sworn the air is colder in his presence. He does not look at the other prisoners or anyone but Blackerly.

After Blackerly reads his name and ads a few comments, the elf replies "I wonder which of your guards will be wise enough to seize this opportunity and free the true son of Aloro." "Surely the reward would not be something to deny one's family." He looks around the room for a brief moment before adding "We will wait and see who has the courage, I suppose." At that an ever so thin grin forms on the elf's otherwise stony visage as he stairs down Blackerly.

Edited: Cinder on 13th Nov, 2018 - 6:00pm

Daishain's Pathfinder: Way Of The Wicked Main Thread

Jesla tries to move her head but the collar restrains her attempts. She is impressive physically in spite of the current circumstances. The Ghost Wolf stands 5'10" and weighs a wiry 155 pounds. Her corded muscles flex as she tests the restraints. Long raven colored hair drops down to her lower back. It hangs loose but is normally braided. Several scars are visible where tanned skin is visible on her arms. Her feminine curves have not suffered due to her great strength.

A scar running along her jawline mars her appearance slightly. She is pretty but would not be considered beautiful. Glittering green eyes take in the situation at a glance. They almost have a predatory look to them. She dismisses the other prisoners as most likely not much help.

Jesla stares at the Sergeant who spoke to them. She then speaks calmly but with a hint of rage lurking just below the surface." Weak scum. I notice that you are brave with a small army at your back. What kind of God has such cowardly followers as this? Release me and let me face some of your best. Girl children of my people are more men than any of you are. Release me unless you know I'm right. Weak servants of a weak God." She studies the faces of the guards." Gorum will see me free. He is no soft god of civilized lands. May I bathe in all of your blood and offer it to the true God, Gorum! "She spits towards the sergeant." Cowards.... "

Edited: Kyrroeth on 13th Nov, 2018 - 8:29pm

Daishain's Pathfinder Way The Wicked Main Thread

Respar continues to look around, hopeful that maybe the men are focused elsewhere, giving him a chance to either pick his manacles or at least slip from them. But then something occurs to him, and he can't help but once again draw attention to himself, despite his normal tendency to avoid it.

"Excuse me, Sergeant, but I have a simple question. Most of us are slated to be executed, the last you say sent to some mines. So why transport us all the way out here? It would have been just as easy to execute where we were convicted. Most countries do that to show their citizens that the law is enforced properly." He pauses, then adds, "Is there something else we should know?"

Daishain's Pathfinder Way The Wicked Main Thread D&D / Pathfinder Archive

Blackerly simply ignores Eva. Upon hearing Kiven's jibes, Blackerly backhands the young man, hard, sending him sprawling to the floor. "You're the son of nothing now brat, and the only reward you have to offer is a place in chains beside you." Jesla's challenge provokes a different response. He puts on a stern expression, trying to look bored, but it isn't hard to see that she has rattled him. His next expression is that of relief as Respar speaks up again, though his words certainly fail to convey gratitude, "Shut up! You don't get to ask questions here!"

The priest beside the sergeant has a disgusted look on his face as he watches the senior guard's antics. He says to Respar, "In spite of the sergeant's… enthusiasm, your final sentence has yet to be assigned. That judgement falls to the high magistrate, Lord Solomon Tyrath. He should be arriving tomorrow. It is not unknown for him to grant mercy to those who show contrition for their crimes, granting a lesser sentence. I would urge you to repent in the light of Mitra." Blackerly growls, "Mercy? For this lot? It'l never happen." A new voice says, "That is not for you to decide."

The guards look quite surprised to see a young elf in regal robes and a haughty manner enter the chamber. He ignores everyone else in the room as he walks up to Kiven Aloro, "I had thought better of you Kiven, father did as well. How could you throw it all away?"

Kiven rolls his eyes as his brother enters the chamber and does not move from where he is seated. He does respond, however, without bothering to look at his brother just yet. "You thought of one other than yourself? Surely you jest. Have you come to tell jokes? I never did find you to be as funny as the giggles of those dim admirers of yours would suggest."

"Of course I think of you, and whatever problem you have with me, surely it was not worth… this." Looking at Eya, the newcomer continues, "This must be the hellspawn that talked you into this sin. Did she offer you her body?" His lips curl with disgust, "I could have introduced you to someone if you were that desperate."

A sinister smile just grows on Kiven's face and the distain for his brother is palpable. "Would she have had a single thought in her pretty little head? I know the type you like, Ty. I'd think it hard to find followers even more dim witted than yourself, but, impressively I'll admit, you do seem to find them in droves, don't you? I wouldn't have thought it possible. Anyhow, you simply wouldn't understand, dear brother. You lack the drive and discipline to expand upon your powers and take our family towards it's rightful place in the realm. But what am I saying, you, the great Tyris Aloro, are the swineherd of THIS fine place. BRA-VO. A life well spent indeed."

The concerned look disappears, anger creeping onto Tyris' face, "You know as well as I the significance of this posting. As to taking the family anywhere, you've brought shame on us all. It will take years for father to recover from this disgrace, if he ever does."

"Yes, yes, VERY impressive, and I love what you've done with the place. A mountain of filth with a bit of the stench of death on top? I have always liked your style, Ty. Perhaps over the next few centuries you could become lord of a second prison even, oh or become a slaver, perhaps? DO make us all very proud, would you? What was it you were saying about shame and the family legacy again?" At that he looks around at the interior of the prison with disgust. "Even locked in a cell I'm still our best shot, and somewhere in there the boy who could barely comprehend basic evocation for a good decade there knows it, doesn't he?"

"So it was your pride then." Tyris shakes his head, "Always that damn stubborn Pride. You never did learn that earning a place requires more than just ability. Well it is too late now, father cannot protect you, and neither can I. You will not last long in the salt mines brother, it would be kinder I think to end your life now."

"Yes in fact it requires no ability at all, it would seem. Lucky for you, dear brother. Do not worry, you WILL see me again."

Tyris' face hardens, "No I will not. This is goodbye. My brother will cease to exist in a moment. In the unlikely event that I see a face resembling yours again, it will be born by a wretched forsaken, forever cast out of the light of Mitra. I had hoped that you would see these last moments with your kin as a chance to regret and repent, perhaps earn some mercy in the final judgement. But it seems that I was a fool to hope for anything out of you in the end."

"Yes, weakness and a a lack of conviction would be your first instinct, wouldn't it. How inspiring you are, favored son of Aloro."

Tyris snarls briefly before regaining control, "Enough of this. Blackerly, do the teifling first. And make sure the brand is almost white hot when you do it, her filthy hide will be difficult to burn."

The priest raises his hands and begins to intone, "Great Mitra, these four have betrayed your light, and thus we cast them into shadow. May you show mercy upon their souls in the next life, for we have none left to spare… "The priest drones on and on about Mitra's greatness, his love, strength, and mercy, and all the many ways the prisoners before him have fallen short of the god's ideals.

Even the guards who seemed enthralled at first by the priest's eulogy are a bit glassy eyed towards the end. The priest names the four prisoners Forsaken, and performs a final blessing over the brand in the fire.

The next few minutes are filled with pain. One by one, each prisoner is forced to the table before the brazier, strong arms holding them in place and their arm out to receive their brand. The mark burned into their left forearm is a runic "F", forever identifying them as one of the forsaken. The guards have to work the brand into Eya's arm to leave a proper mark, and it takes eight men to hold Jesla still enough to get her branded properly, but soon enough, the deed is done.

One by one, you are branded. One by one, you are taken through a door in the back of the room and led upstairs to a cell. Jesla is taken last, so that she can be guarded more heavily while on the move

Most of your heavy chains are removed, leaving a pair of wrist manacles chained to the wall. All four of you are chained in the same cell, although the length of the chains is only sufficient to reach each other if both are trying. Eya and Kiven still have their heavy locked gauntlets on, to help prevent spellcasting.

The guards lock the door to the cell and retreat outside. Most of them disappear, presumably to posts elsewhere, or to go off duty. Three remain, they have a seat at a table far down the hall, although they still have line of sight on you should they care to look.

The space you are in is dark and damp, one guttering torch was left to light the space. Near your cell appears to be another, this one more stonework than bars. You don't have a view of what, if anything, is within.

Out of Character: Cinder and I worked out the exchange between Tyris and Kiven in advance.