How am I supposed to follow that? Gronk wonders, impressed with Nic's performance, even though he'd been told what to expect. Well, the show must go on, he decides. Time to break a leg. Or several.

"Evening, boys. Tisk-tisk. Don't be hasty now. Hands off those weapons. That's good. Now, you got a choice to make. It's pretty simple. Surrender, or feed the crows. What'll it be, eh?"

Today: Raellus, on behalf of Gronk, rolled 20 using 1d20+4.  intimidation check w/ adv.
Today: Raellus, on behalf of Gronk, rolled 22 using 1d20+4.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:09, Tue 19 July 2016.

Corros wants to giggle.  He can't help it, really can't help it.  It doesn't show, of course, the warlock is disciplined enough in his role that he can hide his emotions quite well.  You don't survive long in the grip of the Eleventh Finger wearing your heart on your sleeve, but gods be damned, the whole situation is ridiculous.

He's never tried the imposing thing before.  Implied violence, suave tones, sure.  But actually standing tall and looking tough, silent, and brooding?  Not as such.  It's uniquely of fun in an alarming to his personality and outlook on life kind of way.  Maybe Jenna thinks it's hot, all manly, or half-manly/half-elfy or something.  Still, the warlock does his part and tries not to cackle as his friends deal with the word play, even impressed as Gronk gets his threats out at just the right level of "We'd be happy to kill you. Or not. You're call."

Jenna can feel the rain on her face, a steady drizzle that causes her hair to cling to her skin as the ravens come to rest on her armoured shoulders. She's aware of Corros standing next to her focus remains fixed on  mercenaries, holding eye contact with them, her expression impassive as the birds settle, her demeanour giving the impression that it was such a regular occurrence it was a wonder that the smoke grey metal didn't carry tell tale trails of bird shit.

She remains silent when Gronk has finished speaking, the half orc's words speaking for all of them. On previous occasions Jenna has addressed their enemies directly, but that had usually been after the die had already been cast, when battle had been about to commence. Perhaps this time there would be no battle. It was out of her hands now. Nicolai and Gronk had each said their piece. A random spark of blue fire flickers and dances over her shield, seeming to crackle in the night air, causing the raven on her right shoulder emit a gurgling croak.

Slowly Jenna's lips curl into a smile. The Priestess stands like an armoured sentinel, Arma's Blessing held in her right hand, the hammer's leather strap wrapped around her wrist. In the gloom the dried blood that stains its blunt head probably cannot be seen.  Perhaps fresh blood would adorn the hammer in a few minutes. Arma would decide what would happen next. Either the mercenaries would yield. Or they would not. And if they did not it would give Jenna great pleasure to send those who might be followers of the Reaver to meet their false god.

Her eyes are unblinking, locked on those of the nearest Bloodforged as she slowly raises Arma's Blessing until it is level with her chest, begins to tap the front of her shield with the hammer as the rain continues to fall, a rhythmic tattoo that is intended to convey an air of quiet but deadly menace to supplement the words of the others and the croaking of the bird.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:00, Wed 20 July 2016.

The four cornered mercenaries hesitate, exchanging glances and weighing up the opposition. They clearly don't like what they see. Finally, the merc in charge, the half-orc, says bitterly,

"Alright. We'll take yer quarter. Stand down, men."

The Four quickly disarm and bind the Redcloaks before shuffling them off towards Vander's secret love nest in the Gate Ward. The dim, rain-slicked street doesn't lend itself to an armor swap, so the party avoids the Neck and keeps to back streets, stopping briefly to blindfold the prisoners as they arrive within a few blocks of their destination. When the Four arrive, prisoners in tow, Lenore and Jurvis are waiting. The mercenaries are relieved of their armor, two sets of which are immediately put to use, and rebound. The half-orc's splint mail is a little snug for Gronk, who's at least a hand's' breadth taller and wider than the Bloodforged squad leader. Nic takes his pick from the rest (two sets of studded leather, AC 12 + DEX modifier, and one suit of splint mail, AC 17). Thusly clad, the party makes a few final flourishes with lamp-black and a little goat's blood left over from the evening's supper, completing the disguise.

It's only a few blocks from Vander's apartment to the Keep. Nic sends a raven to the Waterbearer's clubhouse in the River Ward, cuing their attack on the Fire Watch Guardhouse in the Harbor Ward. While they wait for the diversion to begin in earnest, the Four interrogate their dejected prisoners, learning the evening's password and countersign ("harvest" answered by "carrion"). About thirty minutes later, approximately two hours into the Middle Watch (i.e. around 2am), three sharp blasts of the fog horn echo across the city from the Moon Tower atop Beacon Rock, answered shortly by several alarm bells in the Harbor Ward. Fire! The gangs' attack on the Fire Watch Guardhouse is underway.

The Four, now disguised as two Bloodforged mercenaries (Nic & Gronk) with prisoner (Jenna) and eye-witness (Corros) in tow, go back out into the drizzling rain and head directly for the Keep, along the way encountering a large party of Redcloaks, about three-dozen strong, hurrying south down the Neck, towards the Harbor Ward. The reaction force's breathless commander stops briefly for a hurried consultation with the imposters before quickly heading off again, apparently none the wiser. It's not Nic's best performance, but the mercenaries' haste and the adventurers' disguise seems to have allayed any suspicions. The ruse has passed its first test.

10:23, Today: Raellus, on behalf of Nicolai Romanelli, rolled 12 using 1d20+5.  performance check.
Raellus, on behalf of Nicolai Romanelli, rolled 17 using 1d20+8.  deception check.

The adventurers cut northwest across the empty farmer's market, passing the temple of Arma on their left, and enter the shadow of the imposing, well-lit keep gate house. Not surprisingly, the portcullis is down. There are six men atop the gatehouse, four in red and two in black, and four men, split evenly between Bloodforged and Fire Watch, behind the thick, iron-bound lattice of the portcullis itself.

"They're ours! Open the gate!" one of the men atop the gatehouse shouts.

Today: Raellus, on behalf of Nicolai Romanelli, rolled 18 using 1d20+8.  deception check.

"Hold it! We've got orders." he's answered, this voice more authoritative.

"You there, what's the password?" the second voice demands.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:29, Wed 20 July 2016.

At the Safe House

Jenna stands, watches as Nicolai and Gronk prepare their disguises, her shield and hammer both propped against a wall. She doesn't say much as they don their Bloodforged armour, her mind turning to the dangers that their nocturnal activities present. Four of them against a Keep. She could only hope that their diversion would prove effective.

When they are ready, Jenna picks up a pair of manacles herself, hands them to Nicolai. "Put these on me but don't lock them, yes? That way I can get out of them when I have to." She then turns away from the rogue, places her hands behind her back so that he can put the manacles in place. She's counting on the darkness masking the fact that the shackles aren't secured properly.  As she does so, she nods towards Arma's Blessing and her shield. "Which one of you is going to carry those?"

Once her hands are secured, Jenna looks at Nicolai and Gronk again. "One of you should hit me. On my face, where the Bloodforged will be able to see a mark if they look." After all, if she had really just attacked a Bloodforged patrol, her captors were unlikely to be of a mind to show restraint. And whilst blood could be faked, a bruise was another matter. And so Jenna takes a deep breath, stands, head up and tilted to the right slightly, trying not to tense up as she exposes her left cheek. As she does so she a solitary thought emerges from the swirling eddies of her mind, one intended for Corros to hear. Shhhh...don't say anything. It has to be done.

Outside the Gate

Jenna stands silently as the guards call down, her head bowed, hair clinging to her face, hands behind her back, appearing to all extents and purposes to be secured there. Her posture is completely different than it had been earlier, when they had captured the mercenaries. Then her silence had radiated menace, the threat of imminent violence. Her manner now is that of one who has been subdued, perhaps by force, one who has had the fight literally knocked out of them.

At the Safe House

It is, of course, up to you, Jenna.  Discomfort rolls in Corros' mind at the thought of the priestess standing still to take a punch from one of their friends.  It's an odd sensation given that he's seen innumerable manner of creatures poke, bash, punch, stab, and try to eat Jenna over the last several weeks.  Or I can try my hand at a little make up first.  A disguise so that I get to do this instead. In their minds, Corros slides his fingers down her cheek, pulling her lip softly down just so.  Nic isn't the only one that whip up a disguise, and if it looks like make up instead of a bruise, they can always try the real option.

---

At the Gate

"Yes," Corros hurls at Nic and Gronk, playing the spoiled rich brat to the best of his ability. "By all means, provide them your password.  Apparently they can't recognize competent help either.  Mercenaries.  This ineptitude has already cost me more money than you lot will make in a year.  Security? Bah!" The warlock spits for effect, pacing back and forth and waving his arms in irritation to draw the gatekeepers' attention to him and off of the fake guards and prisoner he's standing with.

"You up there! Are you responsible for this mess?  No? Do I look like a man who wants to wait or wants to hear your terrible meek excuses?  Do you know who my father is?  Of course not, not in this land of savages.  I want this woman in chains!  Chains!  I want to see the cell door slam shut for her myself.  Or we are not paying.  Do you understand?  My money walks away.  Now.  Tonight.  All of it!"

It's pure nonsense gauged to threaten the money hungry.  And it's more than a little fun.  He just really hopes he doesn't over do it and take a crossbow bolt to the chest for all his trouble.

OOC: Corros spending inspiration

At the Safe House

Gronk looks at Jenna, then over at Nic, at Jenna again, then at Corros, and finally back to Nic.

"I ain't doing it."

He just can't hit an unarmed woman, a friend moreover.

---

At the Gate

Gronk hunches down, ostensibly against the light rain, but more to conceal the difference in height between himself and the half-orc squad leader whose armor he currently wears.

"Shut up, fancy lad!" Gronk shouts at Corros. "We're still in charge here."

He then looks up at the men atop the gate house and roars,

"It's 'harvest'! Now open the fucking gate!"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:19, Thu 21 July 2016.

Then:

Nicolai turns away in a fair imitation of unease as Corros' body language signals a private mental conversation.  Then, in a low voice: "Hey, Jenna."  Catch her.

As the priestess reflexively looks toward him, he pivots to meet her, bringing his left fist up in a short arc that terminates on her right cheekbone.  The lead-weighted glove he's surreptitiously donned impacts with a dull thump, sending Jenna staggering back into Corros' arms.  "Don't tense up," he sardonically counsels after the fact.  "Sorry about that, but you're right.  The rain isn't entirely in our favor."

---

Now:

The leather-clad mercenaries were the newer recruits, so Nicolai plays up the part of a relatively inexperienced trooper (and one who's just seen half his squad killed or captured), casting nervous glances over his shoulder as the quartet approaches the gate.  The shortsword in his left hand hangs in a loose, inexpert grip.  The ragged, pig-blood-soaked bandage around his right forearm is a reasonable excuse for wielding the weapon off-handed and not carrying a shield.

He backs toward the gatehouse as Gronk manhandles the prisoner in that direction, keeping his squad leader's authoritarian bulk between himself and the irate half-elven nobleman.  At the half-orc's bellowed admonition, he looks up, letting the torchlight from the gate fall on his face.  The blood still trickling from a very real razor cut at his hairline is matted in his unbound hair, which trails crimson streaks across his features.  His wide-eyed gaze fastens upon the speaker who demanded the password.

"'Harvest!'" he echoes Gronk.  "And hurry the fuck up, for M'c-Donál's sake!  They're gonna want her back!"

"Alright, keep your breeches on! Open the gate!" the man in charge shouts.

Raellus, on behalf of Nicolai Romanelli, rolled 28 using 1d20+8.  deception check.

The two watchman atop the gatehouse set to the capstans and the portcullis starts to rise. The Four's clever deception- stolen uniforms, shackles (fastened but not locked), makeup, and an angry red welt on Jenna's cheek- and rather brilliant acting by all have carried them through.

The Four hurry under the rising grate and into the courtyard.

"What the fuck's going on out there?" one of the gate guards asks.

"Riot down by the harbor. Motherfuckers set fire to the guardhouse. We grabbed one of the ringleaders. Barely got away." Gronk explains breathlessly as the party hurries by.

Not dithering to discuss the matter further, the party quickly crosses the open training yard, watched by the doubled guard on the keep's city-side walls. More mercenaries mill around under the eaves of the stables/dormitory (the stables occupy the ground floor, with the watchmen's sleeping quarters above them) along the west wall, curious but hesitant to venture out into the cold rain. The workshops against the west wall are dark and shuttered. Including the contingent at the gate, there's at two dozen soldiers in plain sight visible from the yard.

The Four reach the stairs leading to the second level entrance to the keep and begin to climb. One man is posted at the landing, a fairly new recruit by the looks of him. The party brushes by the flustered, soggy young man, and through the door (unlocked, luckily). Once inside, they break right and make a bee-line towards the southeast tower stairwell. A couple of men look up curiously from their cards at one of the trestle tables that occupy much of the common room, but no one tries to stop the new arrivals. Only one of the tower stairwells connects the lower levels of the donjon to the cell block on the fourth floor, making any attempt at a jailbreak more difficult. As in most fortified buildings, the cramped staircase spirals upward, designed to favor the defenders in the event of a hostile penetration. By the time the disguised adventurers reach their objective, they're all out of breath and still dripping. Braced for what is to come, they step out on to the landing and take in their surroundings.

The cell blocked is laid out like a capital I tipped on its back (i.e. horizontal and seen from above). The entrance to the stairwell is at the right edge of the base of the I. The base itself is a narrow guardroom. The entrance to the privy is directly opposite the stairwell, at the left edge of the base. The body of the I is a central hall, about 10' wide. On either side of the this hallway are the cells, six to a side, accessed by barred doors (making it easy to see inside, from the central hall). The cap of the I is another narrow room with two arrow slits in its exterior wall, facing the city wall. The Four emerge from the stairs into the candlelit guardroom.

In front of them, there's a circular table surrounded by a few chairs, one of currently them occupied. Just across the hallway that passes down the center of the cell block, there's a large, sturdy-looking wardrobe-like piece of furniture against the north wall , and a cot between that and the garderobe in the southeast tower, on the far side of the long, narrow room.

"What's this?" one of the two Bloodforged gaolers demands, clearly surprised by the unexpected delivery. He's already on his feet, cudgel in his fist; a large ring of keys hangs from his broad belt. His partner sets down his pipe and rises from his chair, his hand darting to the hilt of his scabbarded shortsword.

"Who the fuck are you?" the second gaoler demands, his face scrunching with suspicion.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:53, Sun 24 July 2016.

As Nicolai passes the gate, his confidence returns.  He's safe among his fellow soldiers now and the woman who started the riot that claimed his comrades is about to get what's coming to her.  He lets the swell of anticipated vengeance and martial pride carry him through the keep, up the stairs, and into the cell block.

From the gaolers' reactions, he knows the Four have violated protocol somehow, but he's new among the company and overeager.  So he keeps moving, clearing the doorway for his squad leader to manhandle the prisoner through - and, yes, for that irritating but very wealthy nobleman to follow along, too.

"Riot by the harbor," he announces breathessly, using the bandage on his right forearm to wipe away some of the rain-streaked blood from his forehead.  "This bitch was leading it but the sar'nt slapped the fight out of 'er."  His grin stretches wide with relieved tension.  He turns to gesture toward Jenna as she enters the candles' sphere of illumination.  Both Bloodforged's eyes reflexively cut toward the movement...

... Get on them, he sends to/through Corros...

... and the grinning recruit's mask falls away as a knife kisses the second gaoler's throat under his beard.  "Draw and you die.  Yell and you die," Nicolai tells the man in a soft tone, as casual as if he's discussing laundry arrangements.

Figuring that three on two are reasonable enough odds to hold the Bloodforged at bay for at least a few seconds, Corros sheds the rich brat act (such as he imagines it would be) and turns on his heels, spinning in place and pulling the door shut behind the four allies.  Their luck has been substantial so far.  Or maybe it's their planning, but they can't count on it continuing.  That means taking an active role on their position in the fortress.

As soon as the door is shut, he looks for a bar or locking mechanism to snap shut, then turns again ready to unleash some spells on whatever chaos is going on behind him.  If their luck continues, it won't be.  Eventually though, the warlock knows, their luck will turn and the real battle will begin.


Corros
40/40 HP, AC 13
Shutting and locking the cell block door.
Locking down the radiation leak.
Ready to throw spells (eldritch bolt x2 if he still has actions and needs them, +7 to attack, d10+4 damage)
This message was last edited by the player at 00:54, Mon 25 July 2016.

Truth be told, Gronk's kind of been having fun with all the play acting, especially since, up until this point at least, it's all been working so well. That said, the barbarian in him is itching to drop the charade and start kicking some ass.

Summoning up all of the menace he can muster, he growls at the prison guards,

"Stand down, assholes. The Ravens are in charge now."

If the prison guards fail to do so, Gronk is ready, willing, and able to put them down. The guard with the keys will get it first.

Gronk
AC 17 (no shield at present); 65/65HP; 4/4 combat superiority dice
Trying to intimidate the gaolers into surrendering, attacking G1 if they don't

-
This message was last edited by the player at 16:35, Mon 25 July 2016.

The gloved and mailed fist that holds Jenna by the upper arm pushes her forwards into the circle of candlelight. It might be the same hand or it might be another one that grasps a handful of her hair a moment later and jerks her head back so that the fresh bruise that vividly adorns her left cheek can be seen, a testament to her captor’s assertion that she has had the fight slapped out of her. It’s difficult to tell whether it’s raindrops that streak her face or tears.

One of the gaolers smirks. He’s still smirking when Nicolai’s blade caresses his throat. Behind her back Jenna’s hands wriggle, pulling against the iron shackles. It's an action she’s rehearsed several times before they’d left the house, and it works just as she’d practiced it, her right wrist slipping free of the cuff that restrains it.

Around her Corros is already moving for the door. The woman who a moment ago had appeared to be a cowed, defeated captive is now alert, taking a step to the side. Her hammer and shield are in the Bag of Holding but she doesn’t waste time going for them, not yet. They can be recovered after the gaolers have been dealt with. Arma will guide her for now.

So instead she brings up her now free hands, a solitary cuff still around her left wrist, it’s twin dangling down. Her hair is already shimmering, errant strands moving of their own accord as she prepares to unleash Arma’s divine power against the two Bloodforged should they choose not to cooperate.

"You heard my friend. Stand down if you wish to live." Her voice is soft, but menace oozes from the words like venom.

Jenna
HP44 / AC 19
Getting out of shackles and taking up a position where she can hit one of the Bloodforged with a Guiding Bolt (Level 2)

At last, the Four's run of remarkable good luck comes to an end. Gronk's menacing command fails to cow the alert guards. The one with the keys on his belt starts bellowing, "Alarm! Alarm!"

Raellus, on behalf of Gronk, rolled 16 using 1d20+4.  intimidation check w/ adv.
Raellus, on behalf of Gronk, rolled 15 using 1d20+4.

The gaoler with Nic's knife at his throat lunges backwards, trying to bat Nic's dagger arm aside with the back of his fist as he jerks away. The Ardani rogue, however, is too quick, his blade keeping pace with the desperate maneuver, slicing into the guard's neck as he retreats. The bleeding man staggers backwards, one hand darting to the gushing wound, the other still trying to dislodge his short sword from its scabbard (G2 -24HP). He tries to shout, but no sound comes from his ruined throat.

Corros pivots and grabs a hold of the door (it opens inward) to the stairwell, pushing it shut-  louder than he'd intended. He looks for a bolt or chain or bar but the door's only locking mechanism seems to be internal, indicated by a keyhole in a metal plate near its handle. He'll need the key to lock it. Temporarily stymied, the warlock turns back to the developing fray and calls forth a pair of Agonizing Blasts. Two sizzling beams leave his outstretched hand, the first striking down the severely wounded prison guard, finishing what Nic had started (G2 is dead!); the second slams into the guard with the keys on his belt, temporarily silencing his cries (G1 -12HP).

Hands freed from the unlocked shackles, Jenna's casting as well, launching a Guiding Bolt at the head gaoler. It streaks over his left shoulder, blasting a hole in the wardrobe behind her target.

As soon as he can grit past the agony of the warlock's spell, the head gaoler resumes screaming for assistance, his voice rising in pitch as fear takes a hold.

"Alarm! Alarm!"

The nearly-panicked man swings his stout cudgel at the advancing Gronk but the half-orc's stolen armor absorbs both over-hasty blows. Gronk answers with Spike, serving up a crushing counterstrike (Riposte CRIT! G1 -27HP). The gladiator presses the advantage, morning star rising and falling twice more as he looks to quickly finish his opponent. The first blow lands hard (G1 -13HP) but the second just misses the reeling man.

The privy door opens at the far end of the guard room. A startled guard, unarmored, emerges from the garderobe, short sword in hand. He instantly looks like he regrets showing himself.

"Help! Help!" he cries, his voice growing increasingly shrill as he reluctantly advances to assist his hard-pressed boss.

G1 is critically wounded.
G2 is dead.
G3 is uninjured but clearly rather unnerved.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:47, Tue 26 July 2016.

"That was a mistake." Jenna's comments are addressed to the newcomer, her eyes on his as she raises her hand again, her eyes slowly shifting from blue to white. "One that you will regret when ravens pluck out your eyes and feast on them whilst you still live." The Priestess takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment before exhaling, Arma's power flowing through her body, the Warrior's divine grace converging at her fingertips as she launches a second Guiding Bolt at the clearly nervous gaoler.

Jenna
HP44 / AC 19
Attacking G3 with Guiding Bolt (Level 2)

Nicolai shakes his head at the gaolers' unwillingness to surrender in what's clearly a terminal situation, but it doesn't affect his momentum.  Trusting the allies behind him to finish off the head gaoler and acquire his keys, he plunges forward, slipping to the side to clear Jenna's line of fire.

Nicolai
AC 15; HP 45/45; superiority dice 3/4
Move: Into melee with G3
Attack: +1 dagger on G3 (attack +7, damage 1d4+4; if Jenna's Guiding Bolt hits, attack has advantage and +2d6 damage)

There is a ring of keys on the the corpse of the guard.  One of those keys, at least presumably, will lock the door that Corros is currently standing in front of.  It is which key exactly that will lock the door that causes the problem.  Or, how to find that key. And since luck tilted away from their direction, the warlock decides not to start trying keys at random.

With the odds heavily tilting toward the Four (for the moment), Corros turns back to the door and pulls out his lock picks and begins working in reverse to close the lock instead of opening it.

"Don't look," he mutters trying to ignore the battle behind him, "work the lock.  Don't look, work the lock."


Corros
40/40 HP, AC 13
Using lock picks to lock the door.  If successful, will break the pick off inside the lock to jam the mechanism.

Nic dashes around the guardroom table, keeping it between him and the head gaoler's cudgel, and makes for the startled man sallying forth from the privy. As Nic rapidly closes the distance, Jenna launches a second Guiding Bolt at the rogue's quarry- this one hits her target square in the chest, stopping the man's screaming and buckling his knees (G3 -16HP; target now grants advantage to next attack). Nic takes advantage of the gaoler's discomfiture, lunging close to plunge his dagger beneath the man's collarbone (G3 -9HP). The guard staggers back off the blade, groping at the deep wound in his upper torso...

Now fighting purely on instinct, the head gaoler lashes out at Gronk with his cudgel. The half-orc's armor turns the first blow, but the second cracks Gronk across the face (Gronk -7HP), drawing blood. Gronk spits and immediately returns the favor, delivering a skull-crushing overhand blow with his morning star (G1 -11HP; G1 is dead!). Before the key-master has finished hitting the floor, Gronk is off like a 300lb dart, homing in on Nic's grievously-wounded opponent. Spike quickly ends the man's misery, effectively finishing the fight (G3 -10HP; G3 is dead!).

While his companions are taking care of the guards, Corros sets to the lock, trying to activate it with pick and tension rod. He learns quickly that engaging a lock without a key is at least twice as difficult as opening one. As he works, trying to stay calm and focused on the task at hand, he hears the clatter of armored men in the stairwells on the far side of the door, as mercenaries converge on the cell block floor from above and below. The deadbolt slides into place just as someone pushes against the door from the other side. Corros snaps the pick off in the locking mechanism before rejoining his companions (Corros -1 set of thieves tools).

Raellus, on behalf of Corros Graelor, rolled 17 using 1d20+4.  lock picking (dex) check.

"I'll watch the door." Gronk volunteers, handing over Jenna's hammer and shield.

Four of the twelve cells contain lone occupants, presumably either particularly vulnerable or particularly troublesome prisoners. Ex-commandant Kara Overmark is at the bars of the first cell on the left, looking significantly worse for wear than when the Four last saw her, over a month ago. Her face is bruised, left eye swollen shut. Recognizing her saviors despite their disguises, she smiles briefly through split lips.

Another familiar prisoner greets the rescuers from the cell opposite Overmark, grinning behind lank, greasy blond hair. It takes a few seconds to recognize him. Gone are his trademark ringlets and ribbons, his fine, rakish clothes replaced now by simple convict's sackcloth. It's the once promising young corsair captain, Sylky Styg.

The other two lone prisoners are unfamiliar to the four. A bald man, about Nic's age, sits cross-legged on the floor in the middle of his cell, an iron bit strapped between his teeth, lean yet muscular arms pinioned behind his back. He's naked above the waste, body tattooed from wrist to throat with various aquatic motifs. Despite his rather uncomfortable circumstances, the man's face is placid, unconcerned.

The fourth V.I.P. prisoner, watching cautiously, removed from the bars of his cell, is likely Muzz Breakwater. Middle-aged, broad-shouldered, weathered features, bearded, grey-flecked dark hair cropped close, he looks like a working class leader of men.

The other cells house 2-5 prisoners each. Every prisoner must have his or her story, but there's little time to sort unjustly detained townsperson from deserving hardened criminal.

Guards hammer at the locked entrance, yelling for a key or something else to force it open. It won't hold long against a determined assault.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:46, Tue 26 July 2016.

Nice timing, Nicolai sends to Corros as he doubles back to scoop the keyring off the head gaoler's belt.  Aloud, as he begins to work at Overmark's cell, "Good to see you again, Commandant.  Tell me: which of your neighbors need to come out with us?"

"Likewise," Overmark replies, her speech slightly slurred. She points cross-ways, towards a cell halfway down the opposite block. "Breakwater, for starters."

"And the monk. He's given the guards quite a time of it."

Styg breaks in from across the way, "I can fight! You know I can. I ain't got no hard feelin's! I'm a changed man, I am. Just let me out, will ya? I can help."

The other, unnamed prisoners start clamoring for their own respective liberations, creating quite a din.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:32, Tue 26 July 2016.

Nicolai coolly raises an eyebrow as he finds the key to Overmark's cell.  "Your call, Commandant.  You're the agent of local justice here."

If she says "Styg," we'll know they've substituted a doppelganger.  He's not getting out.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:40, Tue 26 July 2016.

"He's been trying to join them. Let him rot." Overmark replies.

Feeling the wind blowing against him, Styg continues to plead his case, "I've got no love for those fuckin' mercs! I was just tryin' to get out of here, same as everybody else. Let me loose- I'll help you! Consider it parole. Come on! Let me earn a pardon. Whattaya got to lose? Pleeease!"

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:10, Wed 27 July 2016.

Gronk keeps himself busy trying to barricade the door. First, he wedges one of the chairs under the handle. Then he starts shifting the large free-standing cabinet across the room, towards the cell block entrance. It's quite heavy. He unlatches the doors and opens them, revealing a small armory- a few swords, battleaxes, and maces.

"Hey, anybody needs a weapon, we got some!" he shouts as he starts tossing the mini-arsenal on the floor. Once he's lightened the cabinet some, he continues hauling it towards the door.

-

With Gronk barricading the door, Corros adds his own personal touch to keeping the mercenaries at bay.  Physical strength isn't his strong point, so to speak, so the warlock reaches out a hand to touch the door, using magic to bind the bits of wood that are already under assault on the far side of the entrance.  It's a delaying game, nothing more, and he knows that he'll have to be far removed from the door once it finally gives way or be facing the very real threat of steel objects assaulting his body.

This isn't going to last long.  Hurry.


Corros
40/40 HP, AC 13
Casting Mending on the door

Reunited with Arma's Blessing and her shield, Jenna pauses a moment to look around at the death that has come to the cell block before stepping up to Styg's cell. The bruise on her face is clearly visible, a vivid purple, as she addresses the pirate. "I'd stand right back against the wall if I were you. Well away from the door. You wouldn't want to get hurt."

Moving away from the pirate captain's cell, to a spot that's a little behind Corros, Jenna's lips move in a prayer to the Goddess, the air around her beginning to shimmer, forms gradually taking shape, figures that flit in and out of view as they swirl around her, ready to defend her and her friends should the Bloodforged break through.

Jenna
Casting Spirit Guardians (Level 3)
Designating everyone in the block except Styg to be unaffected