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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 07:38   #1
Inspectre
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Escape from Ironheart

The Baron of Gast was a particularly cruel man, made all the more so by his general intolerance and lack of humor. He was not without his pleasures, however, most of which involved inflicting pain on the weak and helpless. With the King away in the Elvish lands, personally leading his troops in a foolhardy crusade against them, the Baron was able to indulge in his pleasures much more openly.

Shortly after the King left, the Baron converted one of his larger fortresses into a brutal prison, a place where he could gather all of the “undesirables” into one place, a place where they could all suffer and die for his own amusement or simply for the sake of cruelty. Formerly known as Fort Ironheart, this ancient fortress was henceforth renamed the Ironheart Bastille, or more commonly, “Hell’s Gate Prison”. All sorts and shapes of people from across the Baron’s lands went into Ironheart, but it was rare to see a prisoner emerge from it, and often they were only destined for a “personal” meeting with the Baron.

As time dragged on, the King failed to return, and the Baron continued in his evil ways, although he began to find it harder and harder to keep Ironheart fully stocked with “interesting” captives. As such, he began to rent out space to his fellow lords, allowing them to imprison their own enemies within Ironheart’s dreary halls. There are also whispers in black alleyways that in addition to his fellow lords, the Baron allowed sections of the prison to be rented out to darker powers, allowing them access to handfuls of prisoners for “experiments”, “rituals”, and other nefarious purposes.

Like their Baron, many of the guards at Ironheart are cruel and despicable, rarely showing mercy, often showing the iron-shod heel of their boot. First and foremost in cruelty amongst the guards is the Warden’s second-in-command, Lieutenant Delran. Many prisoners cringle when they see him coming, and often he is the last person that they see. Not even the guards themselves are spared his wrath, and more than one guard has suddenly found himself seized by his former comrades and thrown into a prison cell. No doubt one source of his anger was the fact that despite his “exemplary” record within the prison, he was passed over for Warden at the time of the current one’s death.

Instead, an outsider was brought in to continue management of the prison, and even though he has only been Warden for a year, security within Ironheart has at least doubled. In addition, new programs within the prison have started up, no doubt with the intention of expanding the Baron’s coffers. First, a gladiator arena has been built within Ironheart’s walls, and there are rumors that the top fighters from the upcoming Ironheart tournament will be released into the underground gladiator circuit currently sweeping through the kingdom’s underworld. Secondly, the catacombs and tunnels beneath Ironheart have expanded greatly, as prisoners are forced to mine deep into the earth, no doubt with the hope of finding precious minerals. This does not seem to be going quite as well as planned, however, as many prisoners say that they now only dig on the first few levels, with even the guards afraid to tred down into the deepest levels of tunnels beneath Ironheart. The occasional missing guard seems to lend credence to the fear that something is living in the darkest tunnels beneath Ironheart, but no one seems to have any idea as to what that may be.

Despite these recent changes to the operation of Ironheart, it is still mainly a prison and place of suffering for those who have had the misfortune of displeasing someone in power. The days are mainly a monotony of boredom and fear, broken by occasional bouts of suffering as the guards pick out their latest victim. This is all about to change, however, because someone is about to accomplish the unthinkable, and Escape from Ironheart.

-----------------------------------------------------

This is my latest go at a thread, and since my recent RL campaign has crashed and burned, I’m in a bit of a need of a pick-me-up when it comes to DMing. So, take it easy on the old man, eh? :-p

This thread is obviously a prison break thread, somewhat like Bakan’s Trapped, only set in a fantasy realm, and obviously with more NPCs to interact with. :-p The thread will be mainly freeform, and as such there would be no class or weapon lists to choose from. You want a weapon, either make it or pick one up off a guard’s body. :-p Obviously, all of you start out as unarmed and unarmored, although I *may* allow one or two people to have small knives on their person provided they ask first, and can explain how they’ve kept it hidden from the guards.

I will post a description of Ironheart’s various areas later, once a few people have shown interest in this thread. What I need from everyone right now is the following information:

Name:
Gender:
Race: (standard fantasy races apply, PM me if you want something weird)
Class: (typical one or two word description of your character’s abilities, or if you want to be atypical, a short paragraph explaining what your character’s abilities are)
Background/Why you’re here:
Anything else you wish to include:

Keep in mind while making your character that this is a prison, and as such, you aren’t going to be godmodding your way through the prison guards anytime soon. :-p While relatively “harmless” characters will probably simply be locked in a cell, any “Archmages of Great Power” show up, and they’ll quickly find themselves bound, gagged, cut off from the source that lets them wield most of their magic, and then locked in a cell. You’ll get your chance to mow through prison guards soon enough, trust me. :-D
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 08:14   #2
Bakan
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

  • Name: Incom "Bakan" Morgan
  • Gender: Male
  • Age: 73 - Looks to be Early 20's
  • Race: Human/Dragon Hybrid
  • Appearance: At first glance, there is nothing to obvious about Bakan to set him apart from others. Standing of slightly under average height, he is well muscled. His hair is jet black that runs to his shoulders, but what sets him apart is his eyes, which are completly blood-red. In addition if one was to see his back, it would appear to be scaled.
  • Primary Class: Warrior - Before the accident, Bakan was known as a great warrior, rarely losing a battle. He was skilled with most weapons, espicially the sword.
  • Secondary Class: Mage - Partly due to his Dragon nature, Bakan gained some aptitude towards some of the magical arts, mostly dealing with fire. However he has avoided using these to much, for fear of attracting attention, and loosing control.
    Abilities:
    • Dragon-Form - When Bakan first saw his newly youthful features, his shock started a reaction, causing scales to grow over his skin, tough enough to reflect some arrows. Wings also started to grow from his back, but where for the most part vestigial, unable to fly without pratice. In addition, Bakan can manipulate fire magic while in this form. However, while in this form, Bakan loses control to his Dragon half, which only wants to kill anything non-dragon, hence he tries to avoid using this form except as a last resort, for there is the chance that if he fully goes through the transformation, he would be unable to take full control back.
    • Fireballs - While in a somewhat transformed Dragonform, Bakan is capable of creature fireballs from his hands, and firing them with great accuracy. The larger/faster/more powerful the fireball, the longer it takes to form.
    • Healing - While in a somewhat transformed Dragonform, Bakan gains the ability to regenerate quickly. However this is taxing, and he typically requires some form of meat, raw or cooked unless he wants to fall unconscious from lack of energy. While in human form, his wounds will heal over the course of a day, unless, from what Bakan assumes, he is struck with a instantly fatal wound.
    • Strength and Speed - In human form, Bakan is stronger and faster than most humans. In dragonform, he keeps the same speed for the most part, but his strength increases expodentially to the amount he transforms/gives control to his dragon half, with his speed increasing only slowely.
  • Background: From his youth, all Bakan wanted to do was learn, maybe raise a garden, and possibly a small family. His gentle nature was shattered when he was drafted into the king's army at a early age. It was here that Bakan first tasted battle, and while he didn't like it, he had a natural skill about him. For many years, throughout various wars, he fought in defence of the king, rising up through the ranks.

    As he aged, Bakan took more of a leadership role, leading a small contingent of the King's army. It was during this time that the King left to fight the elves, leaving Bakan's contingent in defence of one of the outer territories. With the bulk of the King's army away, A Dragon decided it would be a good time to emerge from hiding. Realizing the danger of having a Dragon loose, Bakan set his contingent against it, and for several months, drove it farther from the King's lands, trying to kill it as it struck at the outer farms, burning them and killing the farmers.

    In a final gambit, Bakan called upon the aid of a Mage who had fought the Dragon before, and set up a elaborate trap involving both magic and conventional weapons. The Mage used a forbidden spell, one that was to have banished the Dragon from this plane of existance, but something went wrong. The soldiers that were attacking the Dragon were instantly turned to skeletons, the Mage imploded, and the Dragon and Bakan, merged. Stumbling away, Bakan was shocked to see himself reverted to his original age, and moreso, feeling the presence of the Dragon within himself.

    Finding himself slowely changing, Bakan made his way to the town to try to get help from one of the other Mage's. Along the way, he was stopped by a company of theives, whom when Bakan tried to fight back, he found himself turning into something...... dragonlike, and in the back of his mind, he felt the urge to kill anything that was humanoid. As he stood in the entrails of the theives, Bakan managed to take control, and set off towards the main town, intending to get help for his condition. Upon arriving, he was captured by the Baron, and taken to the labs deep within the new Ironheart prison, where he has been held for many years, a victim to several cruel experiments.
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 08:34   #3
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Name: Seliina (sell-eye-ena) Grestrolk
Gender: Female(ooc/why not?)
Race: Wood elf
Class: Rogue
Background: My god, she made me do it. This life of crime I mean. None of this crap, "öh my parents treated me bad" or, "i got in with the wrong croud" Its quite simple, just that no one really believes me. Brand me with insane and the like. Well it was insanity that made me think that crime would be easier here in Gast. Grabbed within days of entering this land. No information on why except for, "disgusting Elf bitch" The worst part of that insult was the way they said Elf. I didnt realise that you could say a word with such contempt. Luckly though one of the guards took pity on me and acctually brought me food occasionally. Thinking about it now though it was barly enough to keep me alive. Maybe he is just prolonging my misery?

Seliina is acctually clinicaly insane outcast by her own people, her friends her family etc. She can't underdstand why they wont believe that bad things just happen around her, and its her deities fault not hers. Its better she believe in him rather than he smite her. After years of his bidding she has grown to enjoy what she does and develop some skill at it. Shame she cant seam to pick this god-damn lock though...
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 10:37   #4
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

name: Remmon
age: 38
race: human
class: illusionist
abilities: Power of mind, Remmon, trained as an illusionist, has a limited ability to affect the minds of his opponents and his immediate environment, in order to make someone not notice specific things, such as the sound of someone sneaking around their backs, or against those that are weak of mind, to literally make him 'invisible' for a short period of time.
Lockpicking and other thief skills, Remmon regularly went into the baron's castles to steal artifacts and money, something which obviously required a group of people, a lot of sneaking and some lockpicking.

background: Remmon was 1 of those that covertly opposed the baron, raiding tax convoys and stealing from his very castles. Untill ofcourse the day they tried to steal a large chest of what was supposed to be gold, the chest that emitted some sticky goo the moment they tried to lift it. Since then, Remmon has been in Ironheart, almost 2 months ago.
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 11:09   #5
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
This is my latest go at a thread, and since my recent RL campaign has crashed and burned, I’m in a bit of a need of a pick-me-up when it comes to DMing. So, take it easy on the old man, eh? :-p
/ooc/ is there really any chance of that?/ooc/
Name: Forsten
Age:251
Race: Elf
Class: Assassin
Skills: Stealth, agility, ranged weapons, short sword/dagger proficiency
Background: Working for an as yet unkown foreign king, Forsten has been conducting "diplomatic operations" for many years. He got one wrong, however, when he tried to take revenge for a former partners death (by internal combustion) and was caught. However his crime was against one of the nobles "renting" the prison, not the Baron himself.
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 16:03   #6
Hawk101
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Name : Hawk
Age: 20
Race: Orc
Class: Warrior
Skills: hand to hand cobat + heavy weapons, very strong
Background: Put in prison after slaughtering 3 men , one of whom was the son of a human general at a bar after consuming dangerous amounts of alchohol
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 17:12   #7
Dunin Hemm
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Name: Faruk Nasri

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Age: 36

Class: Champion

Description: A man of average height, he is what we would call "arabian" in appearance. Black, shoulder length hair and a short beard growing from his chin and thinning out along his jaw line. A mustache trimmed close to his skin grows along the edge of his upper lip and down along the sides of his mouth to join the beard. His build is fit and toned, such as it should be for a master soldier.
However, this description can be seen as outdated, since 5 months in jail have bewildered his beard, stained his skin and thinned his limbs.

Background: Faruk was an officer in an army from the most blessed lands to the south. Marking himself as an aggressive tactician he often fought at the very front line of battle, sustaining both scars and a reputation among his peers. As his army was smashed by the elephant riders of the black men, he staggered into the Baron's lands unknowing of the hostility directed at outsiders.
Killing many soldiers he was none the less beaten and brought to the prison, finding himself locked away in a sturdy cell all by himself. He may or may not have been involved in gladiatorial games.
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 17:26   #8
anarcharnate
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Name: Novalis
Gender: Male
Race: A pale, spindly human with lank black hair and intense green eyes.
Class: Intinerant preacher/healer. Novalis has always felt a closenss to the world, and traveled extensively, learning, healing, teaching and begging.
Background: Given the opportunity of a job by a rich noble, Novalis felt he couldn't refuse- especially with such a shiny blade pressed to his throat... after helping produce a number of infusions and potions for the "amusement" of Ironheart prisoners, the noble grew bored and placed him in the cells to suffer the fate of those he had helped to hurt so badly.
His torments and time locked up alone have given him the chance to hear the voice of the world more and more clearly, however, and now it speaks to him nearly all the time...
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 18:24   #9
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Thumbs up Re: Escape from Ironheart

ooc: If no one minds, I'm gonna take one of my characters from another thread and reuse it here... with a few minor adjustments of course

Name: Jasmine Hewitt
Race: Part-Dragon (Cursed Human)
Age: 25
Sex: Female
Main Element: Fire
Sub-Element : None

History Jasmine started out her life as a common street orphan turned child-thief, roaming many a busy street grabbing wallets and other valuables. By her mid-teens she had progressed to robbing houses and was by this point rather good at it.

However, one night she was inevitably caught, trying to rob a mansion no less. The man turned out to be Paul Hewitt, a mage of notable quality and high wisdom. Rather than press charges, Paul took Jasmine under his wing and decided he would make use of her 'unique' talents. Of course in the beginning Jasmine resisted. There were numerous escape attempts at first but the mage was indeed a crafty old coot and each attempt ended up with somekind of unusual and often humiliating punishment.

Jasmine did get to like the old man. She was educated and well taken care of and also was permitted to train often as well as go after many different persuits. Soon the bond between them became one like that between father and daughter, such was the love that Jasmine couldn't bare being seperated from the mage for very long. She ended up accepting the name of 'Hewitt' as her own.

Although Paul Hewitt did love his adopted daughter he did have one other love. Antiquities. As Jas's skills came to fruitation, he began to take her on long expeditions to retrieve artifacts to add to his collection. She proved to a certain knack for the profession and together with Paul faced many dangers. Not long after it all began the old mage began to feel more and more the effects of age. He came on less and less trips with his daughter to a point where he barely left that extensive library of his. By now Jasmine was well known for her exploits and had a job at the local academy as an assistant professor for the department of arceology and ancient lore. She now lead many an expedition on her own and pushed herself to recover even greater treasures than her last find.

Then she went too far.

One such trip took her into an ancient dragon resting place. She had gone it alone on this one, judging it to be one of those recovery jobs too dangerous bring along anyone else. She was searching for a legendary idol believed in myth to hold the soul of a dragon as the higher draconic powers determined whether the creature was ready to pass on into the afterlife. Finding the out the location of this place had been incredibly difficult so much so that it was almost too easy when after wandering around couple of empty halls she came across a vast horde of riches with an unconscious red dragon lying upon it. The creature appeared to be dead when she had got up the nerve to take a closer look. She soon discovered why - a large majestic idol carved into a column of dragons and spirits from a material with no name hovered three feet in the air over the prone body of the dragon. Her prize.

Wasting no time, Jasmine Hewitt scrambled up the beast before her and went straight for the idol. After analysing the priceless artifact for a few minutes she determined it to be safe and reached out to bag the idol.

Jas was uneasy. It all felt too easy...... and her instincts proved to be right.

As soon as she touched the dragon soul stone a massive wave of magic and energy seemed to bore right into the depths of her soul as the spirit within lashed out at whatever had disturbed the centuries long ritual. Consumed with rage at the intrusion the dragon spirit wrenched itself free of the soulstone and headed for it's body post haste.

In the process it travelled through Jasmine.

Stumbling to the gold studded ground Jasmine begin dazed and confused as an alien presense welled up inside her body. In the fall she lost her enchanted knife belt which was not good since there was now a very angry and very conscious dragon just becoming aware of her presence. Jas grabbed blindly for a weapon of some kind but doing anything right now proved difficult as thousands of voices seemed to be roaring in her head. She itched all over and was hurting badly in several places but worse still she could just see the dragon turn towards her ready to pounce. Then suddenly her hand found the hilt of a weapon of some kind....

....and then she blacked out.

She awoke some time later lying on her back with nothing but the clothes on her back, the tattered remains of her rucksack and a long crystalline sword that she later came to call 'Dragon's Tooth'.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that she began to notice the first changes. She realised, to her horror, that she was slowly changing into a dragon. That dragon soulstone had done something to her. Fearing to return in case the changes accelerated she instead turned to her father but he could do nothing. Dragon magic was just too powerful. Indeed every single magical practioner she visited said like wise. Frustated and angry, she decided to somehow get on with her life while still keeping an eye out with somekind of cure but after several months fruitless effort she had found none.

She had by now reached her current appearance. She still worked at the academy despite her appearance and even went out on a few more expeditons. But just recently she was starting to find it hard to control her temper and many nasty incidents began to arise. To make matters much worse her kind and loving father soon died from extreme old age.

Torn by grief and tossed aside by the local community through suspicion, Jasmine Hewitt packed up a few personnal affects one night and left the place she had come to call home. She became a lonely wanderer, passing from village to village performing tasks for anyone brave enough to hire her services. Throughout her wanderings, Jasmine continued to search for a cure in the hope of returning to the life that had been stamped on by the curse.

It is this cast out existance that brought her to the lands of the baron. Falling in with a small group of disgruntled villagers on the outskirts of Gast Jasmine took some comfort in the companionship oftered which she repaid by helping their efforts to disrupt the hold of the baron in these lands through raiding tax collectors and assassinating local lords. It was during one of these assassination attempts that Jasmine's small band of rebels was ambushed. Most of the villagers were slain, few including Jasmine were taken prisoner and quickly found themselves within the confines of one of the notorious dark, dank cells of Ironheart.

This is Jasmine Hewitt's first day of captivity... and already she hates it.

Appearance
Think 'Lara Croft' meets 'Draco' only not so well endowed Jasmine is about 5'7" with emerald green reptilian eyes and an athletic build. She is covered from head to toe erm, claw in firey red outer scales and pale yellow inner scales running from the lower tip of her 4' long tail right up to the top of her graceful neck. Jas has a semi-dragon like head with an almost cute short muzzle (cute that is, if it wasn't for the rows of draconic teeth contained within) She has 3" long, pointed horse-like ears and two twisted horns extending from the near-back of her skull.

Standard attire is a loose fitting, low cut black top with matching pants and a strange cloak that appears to twist light around it. The cloak was confinsated upon arrival to Ironheart however, and her clothes are worn and torn from months of wandering the countryside.

Skills
Stealth - In her early years as a common thief, Jasmine soon learned the importance of moving around quickly in a light-footed manner. In the years that followed she was always practicing the skill to further her exploits as a thief and then as a treasure hunter later onwards. Jas says it's still amusing to creep up on peeps just for the hell of it, place a firecracker in their pocket and then move away to get into a good position to see the different expressions on peoples faces when it goes off.

Lockpicking - Every good thief knows their way around your average lock and since retriving artifacts from sacred places is sorta like stealing from the dead, every good treasure hunter knows this too.

Explosives - There comes a time and a place when you come across something that cannot be opened with the intricate art of lockpicking. The answer? Why blow it up of course. () Jasmine has extensive know how on a large number of magical explosives as well the unusual eastern element known as gunpowder which she has used on many an occasion, both for fun and serious situations.

Close Combat Training - Everyone gets caught in the act once in a while. No matter how good you are at being sneaky some bored higher power sitting on their lazy fat-ass all millenium might do something like make that seemingly obvious twig snap under your step or make that sturdy-looking beam collaspe or makes the longest fuse burn prematurely. Escape then is generally the best option and that generally involves knocking a few peeps flat. So Jasmine mastered the arts of another eastern artform known as 'kung fu fighting'... er, yeah. And though she will only grudingly admit it, her fairly recent transformation has improved this ability to freakish levels as well as allow the addition of some funky new moves.

Special Abilities (Most likely going to be restricted some how... I'll leave that to Inspectre )
Dragon Fire - This was probably the first new ability Jasmine discovered after her transformation. Unfortunately the sneeze that gave light to this discovery resulted in a rather embarrissing situation that required a new set of clothing shortly afterwards.....
Dragon Scales - Jasmine's new 'skin' is both fire retardant and resistant to physical blows much like the normal scales found on a full dragon. It's like wearing a full body suit of medium armour while still being naked.
Fire Shield - Pretty self explainatory; a magical aura of fire that surrounds Jasmine for protection. Again the discovery of this power ended up in another rather embarrissing situation.

Weapons (Confiscated)
Dragon's Tooth (Bastard Sword) - This crystalline blade came from the same place where she had been cursed. At first it seemed just like a fancy addition to some long dead kings attire, but as her transformation progressed the blade began to take on some unique qualities......
* Burning blade - Whenever drawn the crystal blade glows from within and then starts burning with a forever consuming flame.
* Firewrath - With a little concentration, Jasmine discovered the burning blade could be used to fire explosive fireballs.

Items (Confiscated)
Colour Shifting Cloak - At initial glace it looks like just your average looking cloak. And then the wearer moves, it's colours shift and you have a sudden urge to hurl. This rather nifty piece of clothing acts as a sort of instant camoflarge - it blends in with the background making it's wearer difficult to see if used correctly. So looking directly at the cloak for extended periods of time is not recommended for those with vertigo or epilepsy.
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 19:54   #10
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Busy greating this "Archmage of Great Power" character...



















creating damnit
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Unread 18 Feb 2005, 21:30   #11
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
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i write this much cause i live in the arse end of the world

but at least i have kangeroos! and koala beren!
show off
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Unread 19 Feb 2005, 13:05   #12
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Class: Archmage of Great Power
Of course, just mentioning this class doesn't cover his abilities at all. Yes, he is a Mage, or rather, an Archmage of Great Power, but Great Power really should be followed by and Then Some.

He needs to be able to speak, whisper, shout or talk really soft to use his magic. Moving his lips, unfortunately, doesn't do it.
The hands and fingers of our dear sorceror are also a source of casting spells. Making silly movements with'em does the trick.
But! The really cool stuff comes when he uses both his hands and voice.


Besides being a nice person and possible destroyer of worlds, he also knows how to handle a sword.
He doesn't have the endurance and stamina nor the tough body to engage in long and heavy fights without his magic to back him up though.

Of course, blowing up the entire fortress that Ironheart is, would be a piece of cake. However, he knows that it's just much more fun to not always use your full strenght and keep the whole day just that little bit challenging still. Otherwise, life would pretty soon get pretty boring for someone such as he, wouldn't it?

Name? Appearance?
Haplo, Alfred, Joseph, Warren
"...that mage, you know, the really ****ing powerful one?"
Fluffie
Known by quite some names; as well as quite some appearances.
Someone
[me] was quite a busy man before his 'capture'.
But! Right now, he is known as Tristram.

Known by many appearances and names, the ones he uses now are new though.
Untaken care of and rough, but still short, black hair - a bit curly. Looks like he is in his mid twenties, the prime of his life. Not exceedingly hansome, just a commoner really. Of average length, no other outstanding features besides looking as if he has been on the road for a long time and didn't really take care of his appearance, wearing blue and (obviously) worn robes. Used to have a top-notch quality sword in a smooth, black leather sheath; hanging from a nice black leather belt around his waist, but the sheath, belt and sword were probably taken when he was given his 'room' in Ironheart Bastille.


Code:
History!

Doesn't seem exactly sane.
Was found, by God knows who, on a road known to be 
frequently "visisted" by bandits and other nasty men and 
women. Unknown why they didn't take his sword, 
but the few times he did came by, he mentioned 
something about a "red crystal", which seemed more than 
just very important to him. Said gem was nowhere to be 
found on his body, nor near it.

Deemed a nutcase, that is probably why he was sent to 
Ironheart. He wasn't awake enough nor did he posses a 
clear state of mind enough to know and/or remember 
much of the journey. Last thing he does remember 
clearly before he woke up in this shithole is 
defeating some creep named 
[Attention! "Code" ahead!] Olbaid in 
Lleh, which could be accessed through 
a Lardehtac right above it.

Every now and then he rants and talks in fragments about 
his adventures there. How he fought the Legions of Lleh 
itself, to take down their Lord and Master. And, he did 
so succesfully, but mere bandits managed to got the best of 
him and then obviously take away his gem... Which, 
somehow, is very important for the world's survival.

Why? No-one has been able to make that up out of his 
ramblings. Sometimes he speaks of glorious, not so 
glorious and downright terribly horrible battles and quests 
he had undertaken before. If one were to believe his 
stories and tales, Tristram would've been around since.. 
say.. the beginning of the world. Which in fact would 
mean that he was either more than just very blessed 
with arcane powers or that he wasn't human at all...

He has used magic, or at least, tried to use magic once 
while together with his new "care takers". He only 
used his mouth to conjure, so they perhaps don't really 
know about him being able to do the stuff of dreams 
with his hands as well. For those interested, the thing 
he tried to do was summon a loaf of bread, 'cause 
the guards weren't really feeding him enough 
to his own liking.

Since that incident, he has no longer tried to use magic, 
he has just been going along with the flow of prison 
life. After having lost the red crystal, life seems rather 
worthless though.






and..
eh..
yeah, this'll do.
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Last edited by Fluffie; 19 Feb 2005 at 17:58.
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Unread 19 Feb 2005, 16:25   #13
Darkling
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

A small query but how would a charcter that uterlises some form of magic , divine or arcane be held, for example is there a anti-magic feild in effect around the prison or around certain areas of the prison?. Like if magic users where confined in their own wing of cells, where there are specials wards or protections preventing the use of magic.

Also would not prisoners be tested for some kind magic use abilite to prevent any of them causing problems? and finally would the prison not have its own mage(s) to perform such tests or ask as a force to restrain magic users?

All this is mostly to get a feel for what type prison it would be and how it is controlled.
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Unread 19 Feb 2005, 20:46   #14
Inspectre
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Darkling

The prison guards do have a few mages within their ranks, although these are primarily to protect the prison from magical attack or escape by the prisoners. There are no known anti-magic fields set up within the prison, probably in order not to cripple the prison's own magic-users. The usual means of restraint for mages is to confiscate any focal points of power that the mage staff at the prison are able to detect, and then attact around the mage's neck a resonnace stone. Whenever the mage then tries to cast a spell, the resonnace stone begins to heat up, usually burning the mage's throat and disrupting his conncentration. Generally the more powerful the spell, the more painful the burn is. This method is not perfect, especially against very short and very weak spells, so the guards will often take the additional precaution of binding the mage's hands behind his back, and muzzling him.
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Unread 19 Feb 2005, 21:02   #15
Darkling
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

How do these rules apply to divine spell casters then, as arcane casting requires a certain amount of knowledge and focus. Whilst divine in itself is done throught the connection the person in specific has with their chosen deity. Am I to assume the collar would be the primary prevention of these casters from summoning up their abilites?
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Unread 20 Feb 2005, 05:36   #16
Inspectre
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

The collar is, indeed, the primary means of controlling the more divine-based spell casters. Anything particularly complex and aggressive still requires some intense concentration, which the collar can disrupt, but more . . . passive effects seem to get through. In addition, in the hopes of removing any focal points for divine magic, any suspected religious symbols are siezed by the guards upon entry into Ironheart, and the occassional cell sweep often turns up any makeshift ones that have been created.
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Unread 20 Feb 2005, 07:22   #17
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

The thread itself will be starting soon, most likely tomorrow once Darkling, and possibly No Dachi, make characters. In the mean time, here's some more information on the "lovely" location where you're all supposed to be staying for a *long* time.

Ironheart - Overview

Although somewhat aging, the fortress of Ironheart was thought to be impregnable when it was first constructed. Built into the side of a cliff, much of the actual "living" space within the fortress was either carved out of the cliff side, or built out from the cliff. Protecting the fortress from attack from the non-cliff side is accomplished by two walls, the innermost of which is actually connected to the main building by several fortified bridges. The primary entry point into the fortress itself, however, is the series of gateways set into the Outer and Inner Walls, which then finally lead into Ironheart proper.

Main Gates - Outer Wall

Although gates are generally thought of as one of the weakest points of any wall, the designers of Ironheart seemed determined to prove that theory wrong. As such, the main gateway for the outer wall of Ironheart is actually a trio of portcullises, each controlled by a pair of fortified guardhouses, one on each side of the gateway. Supposedly, to open any of the three portcullises that close off entry into the rest of Ironheart, winches in both towers on each side of a portcullis must be used to haul that gate up. This process must then be repeated at the next portcullis, and then the next, to allow individuals to pass from the Outside to Ironheart's Inner Wall, and vice versa. Due to the fact that the Outer Wall is also the higher of the two (the battlements being nearly seventy feet up from the ground), jumping off the wall is not an advisable means of escape.

Main Gates - Inner Wall

The second line of defense for Ironheart, the Inner Wall is surrounded by a wide, deep moat, with all manner of predatory and foul things swimming about in its waters. The one entry point here is a large drawbridge, which is raised and lowered from the two main guard towers. These two towers are the largest and strongest of the towers set along the Inner Wall, naturally, but the actual controls for lowering the drawbridge aren't here. Instead, two very thick, strong chains lead from the two towers back into the nearby Tower, the command center for Ironheart. It is there that the actual winches for lowering the drawbridge are located, although if there were someway to cut the amazingly thick and strong chains holding the drawbridge, it might be possible to lower the drawbridge by force from the Inner Wall instead . . .

The Tower

The administrative center for the entirety of Ironheart. The controls for lowering the Inner Wall's drawbridge are also located here, somewhere, in all likelihood about halfway up, which is about where the chains from the Inner Wall lead. The Warden himself is located in one of the rooms at the top of the tower, from where he can presumably look down upon his domain. Some of the more elite prison guards are also housed here. Needless to say, few prisoners have ever set foot in here, and even fewer have ever returned. In addition, the Tower appears to be the most defensible position within Ironheart, with the only access to it being somewhere within the very heart of the Barracks.

Barracks

This is where many of the various guards at Ironheart sleep. Taking up most of the old fort's interior, the Barracks is actually situated directly above the prison cells, due to the fact that most cells are located below ground to some extent. As such, this means that anyone trying to escape will most likely have to dig their way out, or go directly through the Barracks, and all of the guards coming off-duty after their shift . . .

The Arena

Home to the newly founded Prisoner Gladiatorial games, the Arena takes up most of the remaining room within the fortress itself. The Arena itself is little more than a pit dug into the ground, with rope ladders allowing combatants to climb down from the floor above (although combatants don't always climb down into the pit, either). With the fighting pit taking up so little room within the fortress itself, most of the other rooms associated with the Arena involve small armories charged with supplying the prisoners with weapons, observation areas for off-duty guards, and security checkpoints to ensure that prisoners *stay* in the Arena, fighting to the death, instead of escaping to run amok in other parts of Ironheart. A newly built and heavily guarded stairway leads up into the Arena section of Ironheart from the Cells, Floor 1.

The Cells, Floor 1

The oldest holding area within Ironheart, likely created from the original dungeon located in the basement of Fort Ironheart. As such, it is also the closest holding area to the surface, and the largest due to the length of time that it has been here, and the near-constant adding-on of new cells as mining crews lengthen the "safe" tunnels immediately below the surface. Several stairways lead up into the Barracks section of the fortress, as well as a newly constructed one leading up to the Arena section of Ironheart. Most of the "weakest" and least important prisoners are held here, usually nothing more than mere commoners that in some way failed their serf duties. Due to their close location to the Barracks, and relative unimportance, many prisoners disappear from this area, only to be found back in their cells later, beaten or stabbed to death. Particularly stubborn or hardy prisoners are often sent down one of the two or three dark stairways that lead further into the network of tunnels beneath Ironheart, which is often called "being sent one floor closer to H*ll.".

The Cells, Floor 2

The second of the three floors where a majority of Ironheart's prisoners are kept, this area is home to most of the petty and semi-dangerous criminals sent here. There are often more guards here on regular patrol, and several security hardpoints dot the layout of the place, which practically force any escaping prisoner to attempt to cut his way through at least one of them on his way to Floor 1 and the surface. With an average of a dozen guards per security checkpoint, the very idea of sneaking or hacking one's way through even one security checkpoint is a daunting task for the average prisoner. Interestingly enough, despite the somewhat hardened nature of the prisoners housed there, Floor 2 is actually one of the safest places to be, due to the fact that it is far from the Barracks, as well as the area known only as "The Labs", located close to the cells on Floor 3.

The Cells, Floor 3

Here is where the most dangerous and psychotic of prisoners are usually held. Particularly cruel guards might occasionally take a prisoner from Floor 1 down here to "spend the night". Most Floor 1 prisoners are never the same after spending a night down in the damp air and inky blackness (unlike the other floors, which are often dimly lit by lanterns, the third floor of cells is lit only by the light that the patrolling guards carry). Many prisoners, if they aren't already crazy, quickly do, thanks to the darkness and often oppressive silence. Once this happens, most of the "insane" prisoners are shuttled off to the Torture Chamber to be "cured", or the Labs to serve as "test subjects".

Torture Chamber

Located a short distance down one of the hallways on the Third Floor of cells, the Torture Chamber is often a place where "special" prisoners go, or just prisoners that have especially p*ssed off the guards as of late. Here, the rooms are actually lighted, although since that's primarily from the hot coals being readied to be dumped on your chest, most prisoners agree that the light is a poor trade-off for near-unending pain. There are also a number of more unique, "sophisticated" devices used for the creation of pain, and just about anything a sadistic guard could think of is probably located somewhere within the terrifying series of rooms grouped together under the title of "Torture Chamber'.

Labs

Located at the end of a very long and secure corridor on the third floor of cells, the area known only as "The Labs" is a place that no prisoner has thus far ever, ever come back from. Rumors of all sorts of horrible experiments being conducted there circulate throughout Ironheart, making the threat of being sent there enough to pacify all but the most resolute of prisoners. Other than this, little is known about "The Labs", although it is also rumored that deep with the labs is a stairway that leads down into an even more mysterious area, believed to be controlled by the various cults and other dark powers that have rented out space within Ironheart.

Mines

A sub-level below the third floor of cells, the Mines refer to the general area of tunnels that continue to snake down deeper into the ground and side of the cliff. It is generally assumed that this area will eventually be converted into a fourth floor of cells, although for now those plans have appeared to be halted while the deepest parts of the mines remain "haunted", as many wild-eyed prisoners assigned to work in the Mines tend to claim.

The Catacombs

The deepest sections of tunnels beneath Ironheart, these have collected earned the title of "The Catacombs", due to the rumors that guards would often have prisoners dig short side passages into the wall, have them crawl inside, and then collapse the entrance, leaving the unfortunate prisoners to be buried alive. Only the bravest of guards seem to come down here anymore, as the creation of new tunnels seems to have shifted to a more lateral outlook rather than "deeper is better" viewpoint. Many prisoners claim that since their abandonment, many sections of these tunnels have become haunted by the ghosts of those buried alive here, and that the Catacombs are cursed. Superstitions aside, something does seem to have taken up residence here, as the occasional guard or prisoner will disappear from the Mines, and presumably dragged down into the Catacombs by whatever killed them.
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Unread 20 Feb 2005, 12:21   #18
Darkling
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Dont hold the trhead back on my account I may or may not create a character depeneds if I feel inspired enough in the task, since I dont want end up with a half attempt at one.
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Unread 20 Feb 2005, 16:05   #19
Hawk101
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

ooc/
Who works in the mines ? What is the secutiry like in the mines ?
How long are the shifts of gaurds on different levels ?
+ the drawbridge is made out of wood isnt it ?
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Unread 20 Feb 2005, 17:19   #20
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Name: Roderic Nikolai Vasiliev
Age: 19

History: Roderic's father was an explorer who journied far and wide across the land, and eventually settled in the capital of his home country with a woman met along his travels, hence Roderic's somewhat unusual combination of names. With his father having ammassed a considerable fortune by finds along his way, Roderic's upbringing was comfortable and privileged, taking place for the most part in a city mansion in the capital with a small army of servants catering for his every need. Roderic had always held a fascination for the adventurous former lifestyle of his father, and learned, among other things, a large number of foreign languages. Perhaps more importantly, he also learned several styles of swordfighting, namely the rapier but also a number of other weapons, as well as a form of unarmed combat taught to him directly by his father - who had himself been taught the art in foreign lands. When Roderic was aged 17, his mother died of disease during a minor plague, and his father, wrought with grief, dissapeared from the city, presumably gone travelling again, and was for all intents and purposes assumed lost in the eye of the law. Having inherited the estate at a young age, it quickly became apparent that Roderic was perhaps not possessed of the responsibility necessary to handle such large volumes of money. A serial gambler, Roderic lost a great deal of his fortune on cards and dice and a great deal more on drink. With wine's ability to cloud the mind taken into account, Roderic involved himself in duelling with increasing frequency, building himself something of a reputation with twenty victories - and eighteen kills - to his name. Although this earned him the wary respect of other men and the adoration of young women, it did nothing to halt the steady erosion of the family coffers, and one fateful evening, while thoroughly drunk, Roderic bet well above his actual means on a game of dice, which he subsequently lost. When it emerged that the young baron was unable to pay the full cost of his wager, the game turned violent, and Roderic ended up killing his opponent along with two of the man's friends. Having killed outside the strict guidelines of a duel, Roderic soon found himself arrested and on trial for three counts of murder. Additionally, having used the last of his meager gold reserves in a desparate attempt to pay the other dice player, Roderic was forced to default on the repayment of a bank loan, and declared bankruptcy, his estate liquidated. In the ensuing scandal, he was villified by public opinion, and was stripped of his title. Subsequently, with the past kills of duels - though in themselves legal -added weight to the conviction of his guilt, and Roderic was sentenced to imprisonment for life in Fort Ironheart. Having long since realised the full impact of his former life of waste, Roderic retains a burning desire to escape in order only to take care of his two younger siblings - a brother of 6 and a sister of 9 - who were sent to the capital's orphanage according to their new status as peniless commoners following their brother's trial. With this latter instituation's reputation being quite so terrible, Roderic is determined that his remaining family should not have to pay for his crimes. He has been incarcerated now for two months, biding his time as he attempts to reason out a way to escape.

Appearance: Of above average height, and with a muscular build though slim, weeks of relative starvation have given Roderic a hardened appearance enhanced by the faint line of a dueling scar down his right cheek. His hair is dark and, after the recent months of imprisonment, rather untidy and beginning to appear longer. He has brown eyes and a slight tan that is only now beginning to fade from weeks in the dark depths of Fort Ironheart.

Skills and the like: Roderic is excellently educated and also highly intelligent. Although previously he made little use of logic or rationale, his new goal has brought them both to the forefront of his mind. Education in history and philosophy are of little use in prison, though they both enhance his ability of thought. His extensive schooling in the languages of foreign lands, however, has already come in use for the young ex-gentleman by enabling conversation with some of the prisoners from farther afield. Some education in mathematics and geometry has yet to make itself useful. Roderic has done his best to avoid fights - even to the extent of accepting minor beatings - in order to conceal his ability at unarmed combat untill he sees the time as right. Although he has yet to get his hands on a proper weapon, his skill with a number of swords will enable him to use even the odd stick or staff as a comparatively deadly weapon. In his brief association with the court of the absent King, Roderic learned the basics of politics and diplomacy, and with a natural affinity for both has been observing the various factions at work within and without the ranks of the other prisoners in the hope of using them to his advantage.
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Unread 21 Feb 2005, 17:39   #21
Zappa Tenderlea
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

name: Zappa Tenderleaf
Race: Elf
Class: warriormonk
age: 4568 years
history: having been all around the world, Zappa has had quite some training. He is more than capable of combat, and excells in most unarmed variants. Unfortunatly, he is bound by his diety, Gaia, and is no longer allowed to take lives. Ordered by his father, the clanhead, he ventured into these lands to stop the baron, but, unfortunatly, he discovered this not be as easy as one might think, when your goddess does not allow you to kill, and he was captured
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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 14:53   #22
Inspectre
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

/ooc And now . . . the pain begins. I apologize beforehand for the rather brutal treatment and railroaded situations that you all find yourselves in to start with, but these are just the starting posts. Once the thread gets moving, I’ll start having the sh*t hit the fan in a post or two, and then you get to have *your* fun. ooc/

Hawk

The prisoners work in the mines, with guard supervision. Generally the prisoners are chained together into 4 or 5 man teams, with roughly 2 or 3 guards watching over each group. There are also small patrols of 3 or 4 guards walking around between groups, just in case anyone gets ideas. :-p Shifts are standard 8 hour shifts, from what you can tell, and most guards are on a rotating shift - those, while one group is patrolling, another group is sleeping in their beds. Actually, the bridge is, fittingly enough, made out of almost 100% iron - although it's a fairly thin length of iron, it's still iron (they used magic, d*mnit. )

Brief Definition of Terms (as used by me. )

Shackles - Chains on the hands or feet
Manacles - Handcuffs
Fetters - Shackles on the feet

Bakan

Current Residence: Labs
Restraints: Starvation, Poor Physical Shape, Shackles on Hands and Feet (the chain is about 3 feet long on both, allowing decent freedom of movement)

You wake up to the sound of your cell door being unlocked, and realize that you were hungry. You were always hungry, and the answer to your pleas for food was always the same: harder beatings and more of them. After so many years of being here, the guards knew all of your tricks, and had long since figured out that the best way to keep you from regenerating and using all of your other draconic tricks was to simply not feed you. For awhile, you had managed to take the edge off of the hunger by eating the rather abundant supply of rats scurrying around in the darkness of your cell, but soon enough even the rats learned, and eventually you were left completely alone in the darkness, with only your hunger, and the screams to keep you company. The screams . . . you would think that you'd have gotten used to them by now, by you never had. There were so many variations down here in the labs: screams of agony, screams for mercy, the shrieking of wild animals . . . the list went on and on. By now, the solid iron door to your cell had been unlocked - it often took the guards a minute or two to unlock the half-dozen iron bars holding it shut. But now the door was open, and the feeble light from the guard's torches filled the room, temporarily blinding you after sending so long in absolute darkness. Seeing more clearly now, you are able to make out that it's the Malevolent Seven here to escort you today: Dr. Krankov's personal goon squad. "Test Subject #54: on your feet. The doctor has a special operation for you today, and I'm sure he wouldn't want you to be late."

Kal'rek

Current Residence: Torture Chamber
Restraints: Special Manacles that chain your wrists together at the small of your back. (note that these aren't *always* on, such as when you're . . . oh, I dunno . . . strapped to a Rack )

"Disgusting elf b*tch!!" You hear someone shout from your dream state, a split-second before a bucket of shockingly cold water is thrown on you. Although it wakes you up, the coolness of the water is actually a welcome gift, here in the sweltering heat of the Torture Chamber. Looking around, you can see that you are currently in one of the small holding cells just off of the main Torture Chamber. Some of the guards must have dragged you into one after you passed out from their latest "game", that is, "stretch the elf on the rack and see how tall she gets before being ripped in half" game. Apparently, although the guards hated you just for being an elf, they hadn't carried out their threat, either out of fear of what the Warden might do if they had killed a prisoner, or perhaps simply because they wanted to drag out their fun for as long as possible. As an elf, the guards had been abusive from the start, and you had started on the Third Floor of Cells within Ironheart, perhaps the most disheartening and dreadful place you had ever seen . . . at least, until you visited the Torture Chamber a few days after first coming here. In your time here thus far, you had seen a number of other elves held captive, and it seemed the guards liked to rotate them in and out of the Torture Chamber, pushing each one to the breaking point and then returning them to their cells once they got bored. It seemed that the past few days were your turn. "Alright, b*tch . . . it's your turn again." The guard at your cell door said with a sadistic grin. Beyond him, you can see a pair of guards cutting down a male elf from a contraption known as a Tripod: a simple three-legged stand that the prisoner was positioned under, and then tied to by lashing the prisoner's hands to the point where all three legs joined. For extra fun, the guards often boosted the prisoner up a foot or so before lashing his/her hands to the tripod, so that s/he hanged there like a dead animal, waiting to be butchered. And the guards often did all but butcher prisoners hanging from the tripod, using hot irons, knives, and the like until the prisoner simply passed out. Looking at the elf, you can see from the burns crisscrossing his body that they had been using hot irons primarily. "Yup, I'd say this elf is pretty well done." One of the two guards cutting him down said, chuckling at his own joke. The second guard, you noticed, was glaring at you with what could only be taken as a glare of absolute hatred. "How's she doing? Ready for some more fun and games?" He asked the guard standing just outside your cell. "She looks ready enough to me." The guard answered, going over to get the key to your cell from where it hanged on the wall nearby. As if a thought suddenly came into his head, however, he stopped, and walked back over to the male elf, now lying stretched out on the floor. "I've gots a better idea . . . let's let this little b*stard decide what we do . . . wake him up." The two guards standing next to the elf did not have to be told twice, and within seconds they have gotten him awake again by shaking and slapping him. The guard that was going to open your cell door then walked over to him, and although what he said was in a whisper, your years of living on the streets enabled you to make out what he said. "Alright, elf, now the way I see it, you have two choices: you can fight in the Arena, or . . . you can watch Little Missy Elf dangle from the tripod for awhile . . . and believe me, I'll make you watch."

flapjack

Current Residence: 3rd Floor of Cells
Restraints: Mage Collar, Manacles (chain is about 1/2 foot long, allowing fairly easy movement and most spell casting, but getting in the way for actual fighting/grandiose spellcasting)

It was dark down here, on the third floor. You had never really been up on the other floors, so you can't say if it was any better, but there really was little else, here in the dark, than to let your mind wander, and consider what other parts of this fortress were like. Did the Warden sit in the dark? Probably not, you decided after a moment, probably not. Despite being on fairly good behavior when the guards came calling, you didn't think it was likely that you would be promoted up to the Second Floor of Cells. That floor was reserved for petty criminals, not rebels. Fortunately for you, the mages at Ironheart didn't seem entirely what to make of you, and instead of wrapping you up in restraints and magical seals, they had simply slapped a Collar on you and a pair of simple manacles. You had heard that the collars were supposed to prevent magical casting of any sort, but yours must have been evidently defective: it seemed to be only a minor impediment to your spellcasting ability. Of course, you hadn't dared risking some of your more power magic, such as your Invisibility, for fear of the guards finding out, and it was difficult to tell if your magic was working with you being unable to see anything, but nonetheless you have not felt the burning pain as yet most prisoners mention the Collar causing whenever someone attempted to use magic. Perhaps your collar was defective, or your magic was different enough not to trigger the collar, or perhaps you simply hadn't cast a powerful enough spell yet to trigger the Collar's full effect: in any case, you still had a sliver of hope of eventual escape, provided you waited for the perfect opportunity. This sliver of hope put you significantly ahead of most other prisoners, and the guards seemed to notice that. Whether or not they'd move quickly to squash that or not, would have to be seen. Noticing the dim light of a torch through your cell bars, you're aware of the guards' approach before they reach your cell door. As such, you have time to compose yourself and organize your thoughts before they open your cell door with a loud screech. Interesting . . . usually there were only three guards to a regular patrol. This group numbered five, and they were all heavily armed . . . something was up. "Prisoner #16534 . . . congratulations. The Lieutenant wanted to speak with you . . . personally . . . today. May whatever gods you believe in have mercy on your soul, because he won't." One of the guards snickered openly at you, as you felt an icy hand grip your heart. The Lieutenant . . . you had heard stories about him . . . none of them good. No doubt he wanted to . . . talk . . . with you about your experiences as a rebel against the Baron. And no doubt once he was done with you, you'd be done too. The lead guard gives you a pitying look, and says, "Get him up." Two of the guards then swiftly enter your cell, roughly pulling you up onto your feet. "Now I'd prefer not to have a scene from you, but let me assure you that we have the power to drag you, kicking and screaming, to the Lieutenant, if we have to."

Flaag

Current Residence: Torture Chamber
Restraints: Manacles with a few links of chain, and fused shut (very little freedom of movement there, although you can move your hands about - and you'll have to figure out a way to get rid of these - no key is going to work in a lock that's filled with lead), leather "mittens" (designed to keep your fingers sewn together), fetters with 2 feet of chain between them (enough for you to move fairly easy, but not enough to do anything fancy, like kicks) - Yeah, they got you good.

For the fact that you didn't have anything to do with their precious Baron, the guards at Ironheart certainly treated you poorly. Perhaps it was the fact that you were an assassin, and therefore a dangerous individual, marked for death from the very moment you got caught by that clever ambush of theirs. Really, that was your own fault to begin with - you were operating to avenge a friend, instead of simply business, and that was always bad. Or at least, so you were always told. Of course, it may be that the guards simply didn't like elves - there certainly seemed to be an abundance of them in prison, especially in the Torture Chamber section, where you were now. As inflicting pain was occasionally something that you had been forced to do on your missions, you knew something about how to inflict it with maximum efficiency, and frankly . . . these guards sucked at it. First off, they were beating you with sticks. Sticks. While you were hanging upside down from the ceiling, which significantly lessened the force of their impacts, as their blows did little more than cause a bit of pain, and send you swinging in some random direction. F***ing amateurs. Breathing heavily, one of the guards grunted at you, "Had enough yet, filthy elf?" Yup, definitely a bigot there. His friend wasn't much better though. "D*mn elves." The second guard grunted, thumping you soundly in the right kidney. That definitely hurt quite a bit more, but the impact was still lessened by your swinging back and forth. This was really getting to be quite boring, actually. The least they could do was try to break you, and get you to talk . . . they certainly had all the necessary tools at their disposal. But no . . . simple random violence, evidently caused by sheer bigotry. Sad. Things seemed about to change, however, as from your upside-down perspective of the world, you could see another guard approaching your merry little band. "Alright, elf." The guard sneered as he came to a stop a few feet from you. "Some of the higher-ups think that with your skills, you'd make an excellent addition to our gladiator team. So, you have a choice: you can either join, and fight in the Arena, or you can stay here for the rest of your miserable life."

Hawk101

Current Residence: 3rd Floor
Restraints: Manacles connected to a Thick chain wrapped around your waist (thus preventing you from moving your hands more than a foot or two away from your waist).

/ooc Been playing WoW, perhaps, Mr. Orc Warrior? ooc/

Oftentimes, you wonder if you'd have gotten a nice little cell on the second floor, if only that one human you killed hadn't been a general's son. Your trial was hardly anything more than a bunch of people shouting that you be put to death, the general had seen to that. And you're sure that the general had also suggested to the judge that you be granted "mercy", and instead of being executed, you were sent here to rot. Well, you may have been forced to come here, but rot away, you would not. Even stuck down here in the darkest depths of this h*llhole, you refused to be broken. Of course, the guards didn't particular appreciate such spirit in their prisoners, and so recently they've been sending you down into the mines to work you to exhaustion. Well, let them try that . . . the exercise merely kept you strong. And right on schedule, here they came to lead you down into the mines now. The usual five of them, all armed with crossbows . . . weak. The leader quickly opens the door, and barks out, "Prisoner #16558, on your feet!! It's time for you to go down into the mines!!"

Dunin Hemm

Current Residence: 2nd Floor Cells
Restraints: None, other than the locked cell door

Another day, another opportunity, you think as you awake. Even though you had been here for five months, you had not crumpled like you had seen so many prisoners do within their first two weeks here. You're still not entirely sure why the Baron's men had taken you as you crossed this land, but for whatever reason, you were now here. Recently, you had been hearing about some gladiatorial games that the prison guards were holding, with the promise of the winners being realized to become gladiatorial slaves. You didn't really believe it, and you didn't fight for anyone else's amusement. Nonetheless, your cell made a poor practice room, and it would feel good to have a blade in your hand again. You've heard that the guards were recently going around, inviting certain prisoners to join in the games . . . perhaps they would pick you. Suddenly noticing the arrival of a group of guards at your cell door, you wonder if perhaps they were here to offer you a chance. Although careful to keep a healthy distance from the cell door, the leader of the patrol approaches your cell, and says, "Prisoner #16271 . . . my superiors have heard of your fighting prowess, and would like to offer you this simple choice: you can either rot in your cell, or you can participate in the gladiator games. What's your answer?"

anarcharnate

Current Residence: 3rd Floor, Cells
Restraints: The locked cell door, and a leather muzzle, holding your mouth shut (which is locked in place by a simple padlock - unlockable or smashable, if you could find a suitable rock, and wanted to risk denting your skull)

Here in your quiet cell of darkness on the Third Floor of Ironheart, you realized that life wasn't so bad. It was quiet here, peaceful . . . the voice of the world could speak to you very clearly here, and the sins of your past were hidden quite well. Sins of your past, yes . . . and a secret. A terrible, terrible secret, and a terrible sin, which was what had caused you to be thrown down here after serving the staff of Ironheart for so long. The secret was, the Lieutenant had poisoned the former Warden!! And the sin was, you had helped him!! Yes, you remember that day quite clearly: the Lieutenant creeping into your office in the middle of the night, and demanding that you make for him a truly deadly poison, which he could mix into the Warden's drink when he wasn't looking. Faced with a sudden and swift death or giving out death to one who truly deserved it, the choice at the time had seemed simple. But, of course, you had been d*mned from the onset, it was really quite clear now. The Lieutenant certainly couldn't have any evidence of this mis-deeds left lying around, and so he had thrown down here, without the ability to speak. Of course, without the ability to speak, you couldn't communicate with the voice, but that simply helped you listen better. The only real problem was obtaining nourishment with your jaws constantly strapped together, but the gruel the guards served down here was so thin that you were able to slurp it up fairly easily between your teeth. Seeing a dim light approaching, you recognize the signal that a band of guards was approaching. But that was odd . . . they usually didn't come this way at this time of the day, and it wasn't lunch time yet. With a sinking feeling, you realize that they have come for you. This was it: the Lieutenant had temporarily gotten rid of the evidence by hiding it, and now he was going to destroy it. The patrol of guards stop at your cell, and you see that there are only three of them . . . not very many, but probably more than a match for one of you. The group's leader opens the door, and then very dryly announces, as if pronouncing your death sentence: "Prisoner #16652, the Lieutenant would like to have a . . . word with you. Come along now, and don't make a fuss . . . we'll drag you kicking and scre - well, we'll drag you kicking to the Lieutenant anyway, if we have to."

Hewitt

/ooc I seem to recall this character from before . . . although somehow, I seem to recall her as a bit more human. ooc/

Current Residence: The Labs
Restraints: (The guards went a little overboard on this one, seeing as how you look like a demon to them. :-p) Wrapped in chains from head-to-toe . . . er, claw (ever seen the Anima Aeon from FFX? Well, that's what *you* look like. :-p ), and a Muzzle made out of iron (no fire breath for you. )

You awake with a start. The last thing you remember is a swarm of men crawling all over you, hammering you with clubs until finally you fell to your knees, and then finally blacked out as one particularly nasty blow caught you in the back of the head. A few spots were your scales had failed to absorb a particularly nasty blow still ached, but for the most part you were fine, if a bit stiff. Trying to stretch out the kinks in your muscles, you realize with a start that you can't move your arms - or any part of your body, for that matter. Looking down, you see that your arms are being held crisscross across your chest (Egyptian style) by numerous loops of heavy chain. The chain continues to run down your body in spirals, holding your legs and feet together as well. Whoever had captured you evidently didn't want you going anywhere. It’s around this point that you notice your jaw is also being held rigidly shut by some sort of muzzle - iron, judging by hold inflexible it was. Maybe you shouldn't have had tried using your fire breath to scare the first wave of attackers off, afterall . . .

Hearing an iron door off to your left squeal open, you squirm around to see no less than five pairs of boots standing in a doorway, one of them evidently holding a torch (although one "good" side effect from your transformation was that you could now see relatively well in the dark, even in near darkness). Even from your position on the floor, you can tell that the guards were nervous, and several of them whispered comments to each other like "What is that thing?" "Demon . . . " "May the gods protect us . . . demon." "Looks a bit dragonic to me." "no, it's a demon, see the horns?" Eventually, one of the pairs of boots evidently mustered enough courage to walk forward a step or two, and you heard a voice say, "Well, you're awake . . . umm . . . that's good, v-very good. I’m sure Dr. Lenov will be most interested in hearing that. You . . . you just stay right there, ok? Don't try an-anything, and we w-won't . . . harm you. ok?"

The pair of boots stepped back again, and the five pairs of boots then quickly retreated, closing the door behind them as they fled from your presence. Demon? Demon your *ss . . . what kind of demon has horns, scales, and breathes fire? Idiots . . .

What seems like ages pass, although it was probably only a few minutes, and the door opens again. This time, there were eight pairs of boots . . . and one pair of nice leather shoes. Dr. Lenov, you presumed. The pair of leather shoes approached, and you could then see a somewhat elderly man enter your field of vision, as he stood over you. "Greetings. I apologize for the restraints, but my men are quite superstitious." The man says, turning to glare at the other eight people now in the room. "My name is Dr. Lenov, and I am what you would call a, ah . . . great studier of the sciences. You are currently in Ironheart prison, brought here I suspect because the ignorant fools who caught you didn't know what to do with you. Now, you seem to be a, ah . . . . fascinating specimen of . . . female, probably draconic in origin. Although you appear somewhat human in shape as well . . . most interesting. I would be lying if I didn't say that it will be a pleasure working with you. You see, as I said before, I am a great studier of the sciences, particularly that of biology." At this point, the man steps away from you, no longer really paying much attention to you as he starts monologuing. "Yes indeed, my colleagues and I do important work here . . . most important work. I'll admit that the . . . quality . . . of specimens that we usually have here is quite poor, although there are some exceptional ones, such as one . . . and the other one . . . to make up for such flawed study material in general. I'll admit that the other one had us baffled for quite some time, but I believe that we are nearly at a major breakthrough with him. You, however, seem to be an entirely different sort of creature . . . yes. Well, in any case, I'm sure we'll figure out what makes you tick as well, given enough time. I must admit that I'm looking forward to opening you up and seeing what you look like inside . . . yes, very much so." At this point, the doctor comes back over to you, and leans down. Grabbing your muzzle with one hand, he jerks your head around until the two of you are directly staring at each other, eye to eye. You can see now, looking into his eyes, that despite his rather calm and level-headed tone, that the doctor was quite insane. "Now, one way or another, I'm going to find out why you exist and what makes you tick. You can either help me with this by cooperating, or you can fight it, and possibly end up injuring yourself in the process. Now, nod if you understand, and agree to cooperate." Throughout his little conversation, the doctor has kept his hand wrapped around one side of your muzzle. Although you doubt that you could burn it off with your fire breath without seriously injuring yourself, you could probably give out a little blast of heat despite the muzzle, and give the doctor a taste of what you really were . . .

Fluffie

Current Residence: 3rd Floor Cells
Restraints: Leather muzzle preventing speech, Mage Collar, Manacles (chain is about 1 1/2 foot long, allowing fairly easy movement and pick-ax swinging)

So, there you are sitting in the darkness, as usual. Somebody had been stupid enough to put a muzzle on you, either because they were sick of hearing you mutter gibberish, or because they were afraid you were going to unleash mad magic powers on them . . . or something. As if you could do that with this stupid collar around your neck, anyway. Blasted collar, always burning your throat . . . this was almost as bad as all that time you sent in lleh, battling snomed. And recently, the buggers have been sending you down into the mines to do digging for them. You! Mining! And here the buggers come now, right on schedule, for another day of forcing you into the mines!!! The door swings open, and you can see by the torchlight (darn, it's suddenly bright in here), that there are no less than five of them today. Their leader says the usual phrase, "Prisoner #16589, it's time for your shift down in the mines . . . hope you like swinging a pick." Evidently, this guy was new . . . you'd been doing this for two weeks now.

No Dachi

/ooc And this is why I like the guards calling everyone by #s . . . . Prisoner #16561 :-p ooc/

Current Residence: 2nd Floor
Restraints: none, except for the cell door

Your cell on the second floor was not much to complain about, really. Sure, the food was bad, and the company worse, but you'd heard some awful tales about went on down in the third floor . . . and all the animals that they kept down there. Serial murderers, rebels, elves, the whole lot of them were kept down in the dark confines of the third floor. All in all, the guards left you alone, except when it was your turn down in the Mines . . . like it was today, apparently. A trio of guards was approaching your cell, and the leader called from beyond the bars, "Prisoner #16561, it's time for your weekly exercise down in the Mines . . . relax and assume the position."

"Assume the position" pretty much just meant stay where you were as the guards opening the cells, with your hands held out in front of you . . . the guards here were certainly a cautious lot, and then never forgot to manacle your hands together while they were leading you down into the Mines.

Zappa

Current Residence: Torture Chamber
Restraints: A pair of fetters (2 foot length chain in between them . . . it's to slow you up in case you try to run away . . . . pansy elf. )

All things considered, you have had better days than this. So far today, you've been stretched out on the rack for awhile, beaten with clubs, and then hung from a tripod while a trio of *sshole humans trying to make "roast elf" by poking you with hot irons. Your training had allowed you to block out most of the pain, although the hot irons had pressed you to the limit, and you think that your weak body had forced your mind to pass out for a minute or two, in spite of yourself. Nonetheless, your body's moment of weakness appeared to be working to your advantage . . . the humans had thought you had truly passed out, and were now cutting you down. Seeing as there was no reason to convince them otherwise, you continued playing "dead" as it were, and let them cut you down the rest of the way, and lay your "unconscious" form out on the floor. Stupid humans . . . one of them made a comment about how "well done" you were. You knew that if you wished, you could quite easily prove just how "well done" you were, by killing all three of them before they could even draw another breath. Nonetheless, you had sworn an oath never to do that, and while you could probably simply knock them all out in roughly the same amount of time, there were many guards scattered throughout this Torture Chamber of theirs . . . and no doubt they would be able to overpower you (in your somewhat weakened state) through sheer numbers. Through narrowed slits, you observed one of the three guards that had been torturing you taunting a female elf currently locked in one of the cells lining the outside of the room. He seemed to be going for the key to her cell, and when suddenly stopped, turned around, and moved back towards you. "I've gots a better idea . . . let's let this little b*stard decide what we do . . . wake him up." The two guards still standing next to you start to brutally slap and shake you, clearly focusing on slapping at your burn wounds. Having no particular desire to be slapped around much more, you feign waking up as the third guard rejoins the two hitting you. Coming to stand over you with a sneer, the guard says, "Alright, elf, now the way I see it, you have two choices: you can fight in the Arena, or . . . you can watch Little Missy Elf dangle from the tripod for awhile . . . and believe me, I'll make you watch." For whatever reason, they had been trying to make you fight for quite awhile now . . . this trio of thugs especially. You have no idea why they seemed so eager to press you into doing the one thing that would benefit them the least, but they were doing it, for whatever reason. At first, they seemed intent on getting you to fight them, but they had quickly tired of that. With all this talk of gladiators now, though, they seemed intent on making you fight in that, as if competing in that would somehow make you fight anymore than their cruelty had before.
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like you in your threads after about a week



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I love you Phang.
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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 15:02   #23
Zappa Tenderlea
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f.....fig...ht... AAgh... *pretends to faint again*
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Violence is not the answer, but for some reason, most people do take it as one.

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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 15:26   #24
No Dachi
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Roderic pulled himself to his feet and shook his limbs experimentally. He had been doing a few discreet exercises in his cell to ensure that he didn't go completely out of shape through lack of activity, but there wasn't a great deal else one could do in the cell, and sitting on the hard stone floor for most of the day had given him a few minor but persistent aches. The young ex-noble almost ended up looking forward to his trips down for forced labour in the mines as an oppurtunity to get out of the dank interior of the cell and stretch his legs. The manacles were annoying, but he silently endured it all - the less attention he drew to himself from the guards, the easier it would be to escape. Escape, a forbidden word that would only be whispered in hushed tones when no guards were around in most parts of the prison, and Roderic's only current goal. Now standing, he wordlessly held out both arms in front of him, ready to be shackled and led down to the mines.
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Was Slave to Prodigality,
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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 16:03   #25
flapjack
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

*Remmon considered for a moment to try and use his abilities to make a run for it, then realised that there was a good chance that the luitenant would have keys for his manacles, and a way to get rid of that blasted collar, thus he got up and went with the guards, not putting up a fight as he knew he couldn't win against 5 men*
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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 17:39   #26
Dunin Hemm
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

In the darkness, Faruk has long been left to his own devices, trying to meditate the long hours away. Still, the mining gives him something to do, something to focus his being on and keep his body moving rather than withering away in the damp space of his cell. He's heard stories of men captured and locked away hundreds of feet beneath the surface in perpetual darkness and given naught but a few scraps to eat. He's heard how their bodies fail and deteriorate into something worse than an old crone's frame.
And he fears that fate, because what with the mining and the poor food he's given, his own body is loosing weight and every day feels harsher to his worn joints than the last.

But then, the darkness is lifted as the light of a torch nears. The guards speak into the inky blackness of the cell window and wait for a response. Silence. For a long while they can hear or see nothing and it soon strikes them that it wil lremain so. But then, two needle points of reflection appears in the black frame, closing in, and then the haggard face of a dark skinned man appears, squinting in the light. His hair is greasy and his beard filthy, but his expression is one of quiet determination. "Sure," he whispers.
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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 18:17   #27
Fluffie
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

"Hm-mm mpff mmff..." [Sure thing bitch....]

Tristram nodded. There was little else he could do, being dressed up like some sick mind's favourite fetish-puppet. Well there was, but that was just squinting his eyes. Damn fools didn't seem to know being in the dark, then the light and then the dark again didn't really swing his door, nor float his boat. He had had enough of his own personal darkness, back there...

At least there he could run decently. Not that he did any running there, that was below his status. There, things ran from him, or eventually tried to when it was already too late.

Oh, glorious days of victory back in the past. What was left of it?

Mining.

And he couldn't even start coughing up blood because of this stupid leathery piece of whatever it was in his mouth. All the dust down there trying to kill him through destroying his lungs. But could he cough?

Oh no.

Tristram was sure though the guards would enjoy him coughing up blood, being the sadistic dogs they were. If only he could tell them, but well, you know, there was this gag stuck in his mouth. So he just rose his shoulders, tried to look as innocent as possible in order to draw out another beating. Beatings made him aggressive and, or, maybe perhaps depressed. Being aggressive was good when mining, it made that pick swing around just that little bit more. And being depressed?

Who the **** cared, he was stuck there anyhow.
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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 18:22   #28
Bakan
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
Bakan

Current Residence: Labs
Restraints: Starvation, Poor Physical Shape, Shackles on Hands and Feet (the chain is about 3 feet long on both, allowing decent freedom of movement)

You wake up to the sound of your cell door being unlocked, and realize that you were hungry. You were always hungry, and the answer to your pleas for food was always the same: harder beatings and more of them. After so many years of being here, the guards knew all of your tricks, and had long since figured out that the best way to keep you from regenerating and using all of your other draconic tricks was to simply not feed you. For awhile, you had managed to take the edge off of the hunger by eating the rather abundant supply of rats scurrying around in the darkness of your cell, but soon enough even the rats learned, and eventually you were left completely alone in the darkness, with only your hunger, and the screams to keep you company. The screams . . . you would think that you'd have gotten used to them by now, by you never had. There were so many variations down here in the labs: screams of agony, screams for mercy, the shrieking of wild animals . . . the list went on and on. By now, the solid iron door to your cell had been unlocked - it often took the guards a minute or two to unlock the half-dozen iron bars holding it shut. But now the door was open, and the feeble light from the guard's torches filled the room, temporarily blinding you after sending so long in absolute darkness. Seeing more clearly now, you are able to make out that it's the Malevolent Seven here to escort you today: Dr. Krankov's personal goon squad. "Test Subject #54: on your feet. The doctor has a special operation for you today, and I'm sure he wouldn't want you to be late."
*Opening his eyes slightly at the first few signs sounds of his door opening; Bakan pulls himself out of his meditation. When he first arrived, he worked out, if only out of boredom and the desire to stay in shape for his eventual escape, however the lack of food, and the… tortures that he went through changed that so that now he focused on conserving his energies. Strangely, the stories he heard of prisoners rotting away from lack of activity, the rotting seemed to not affect him as much. Yes he had lost weight, but it was unneeded weight from victory feasts, now there was only hardened skin and muscle, and scales along his back. Not to mention the meditation helped keep the screams at bay, screams which fueled Bakan’s rage. There was no way the king of old would allow such a facility to be built, nor the entire war with the Elves.*

*Watching the door open, Bakan’s eyes, once sharp enough to see through the dark as if it was day, now struggled to adapt thanks to the his hunger. Counting the footsteps, he hears seven of them, and smiles slightly to himself. Holding back a grunt, he looks up slowly, letting his long hair, unkempt dangle over the remains of his uniform. As he raised his head, he looked at the Malevolent Seven, and wondered what they would do to him today.*

“Hello gentlemen, how’s the knee Matthers?”

*Matthers’s smiles grimly, and swings his club, connecting with Bakan’s left arm, which cracks alarmingly as the force of the blow sends him slamming against the wall. Pulling himself up, Bakan remembers fondly tearing open Matthers knee when he got careless a few weeks ago. Judging from Matthers limp, it was still healing.*

“Healing nicely I see. Remind me to tear open the next one, maybe you can join Stevens.”

*Hearing the name of Stevens, Bakan sees all the Malevolent Seven but Matthers bristle. Stevens, the former youngest of them, made a mistake of assuming that a Bakan, recently dissected, with his wounds still healing, would be incapable to harming him. Hence when Bakan tore out Stevens throat, it was a shock as Steven bleed out onto Bakan, giving him a good meal for the first time in a long while. The beatings he received thereafter where much more brutal, with the Malevolent Seven abusing him whenever they could, with Bakan returning the favor. One of them, walks up to Bakan, holding a sword.*

“Test Subject #54: on your feet. The doctor has a special operation for you today, and I'm sure he wouldn't want you to be late."

*Pulling himself up, Bakan twisted his left arm, and grunted as he felt fresh waves of pain, along with hunger. Holding out his hands, he awaits his transportation to the Doctor’s lab, wondering what it would be today.*
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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 19:54   #29
Flaag
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
Flaag

Current Residence: Torture Chamber
Restraints: Manacles with a few links of chain, and fused shut (very little freedom of movement there, although you can move your hands about - and you'll have to figure out a way to get rid of these - no key is going to work in a lock that's filled with lead), leather "mittens" (designed to keep your fingers sewn together), fetters with 2 feet of chain between them (enough for you to move fairly easy, but not enough to do anything fancy, like kicks) - Yeah, they got you good.

For the fact that you didn't have anything to do with their precious Baron, the guards at Ironheart certainly treated you poorly. Perhaps it was the fact that you were an assassin, and therefore a dangerous individual, marked for death from the very moment you got caught by that clever ambush of theirs. Really, that was your own fault to begin with - you were operating to avenge a friend, instead of simply business, and that was always bad. Or at least, so you were always told. Of course, it may be that the guards simply didn't like elves - there certainly seemed to be an abundance of them in prison, especially in the Torture Chamber section, where you were now. As inflicting pain was occasionally something that you had been forced to do on your missions, you knew something about how to inflict it with maximum efficiency, and frankly . . . these guards sucked at it. First off, they were beating you with sticks. Sticks. While you were hanging upside down from the ceiling, which significantly lessened the force of their impacts, as their blows did little more than cause a bit of pain, and send you swinging in some random direction. F***ing amateurs. Breathing heavily, one of the guards grunted at you, "Had enough yet, filthy elf?" Yup, definitely a bigot there. His friend wasn't much better though. "D*mn elves." The second guard grunted, thumping you soundly in the right kidney. That definitely hurt quite a bit more, but the impact was still lessened by your swinging back and forth. This was really getting to be quite boring, actually. The least they could do was try to break you, and get you to talk . . . they certainly had all the necessary tools at their disposal. But no . . . simple random violence, evidently caused by sheer bigotry. Sad. Things seemed about to change, however, as from your upside-down perspective of the world, you could see another guard approaching your merry little band. "Alright, elf." The guard sneered as he came to a stop a few feet from you. "Some of the higher-ups think that with your skills, you'd make an excellent addition to our gladiator team. So, you have a choice: you can either join, and fight in the Arena, or you can stay here for the rest of your miserable life."
Despite the utter hopelessness of his situation, or pehaps just to keep his mind away from the horrible things he has seen before being given a non-negotiable housing offer by the nobles, Forsten's sense of humour had not dulled.
"Well, much as I have enjoyed the facilities here, I shall take my leave of you men," despite his employment by humans, he still deeply hated them, and as a result he almost spat the word out "and see if there is some more fun to be had in the arena, you never know, there may even be someone there who can hurt me, which would be more than can be said for you!"

/ooc/ you may now be wondering if this character is suicidal, the short answer is yes, the long answer is definitely, but wants to get his revenge on that ******* king first if possible. (more reasons will be revealed if i ever get the chance to write a dream seq.) /ooc/
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Last edited by Flaag; 22 Feb 2005 at 20:53. Reason: spelling
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Unread 22 Feb 2005, 20:14   #30
Hawk101
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Hawk looks up at the gaurd, with a broad insane smile which reveals his digusting teeth and 'knock-out' breath. Hawk gets up to his feet, around 6ft 6" he towers over the gaurds, looking at the gaurd's ready hand over his large weapon he comments "dunt tryit small one" to which he he smacked in the knee cap, "oh i wodnt doit, aint nice" he smiles and gets back up.
Hawk enters the caves , slouching to avoid scraping the roof. He takes up his usual position near the end and glances at the isane looking man next to him. "Youna imglad im ere nah, ifi 'adant den theydav kill'ed mi. I keep smilin cos they aint founded the other ones yet" he laughs full heartedly, picks up a shovel and starts hammerng at the side of the cave.
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Unread 23 Feb 2005, 09:25   #31
Kal'rek
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Seliina tensed against the restraints feeling the sores burn, a dull burning of pain. So slight compared to what she had experienced here. The pain had all been bearable though and her God still spoke to her for comfort. The cool water was quite refreshing on her skin though it made raw burns rage with renewed strength afterwards.
The temporary flush of pain dulled Seliina’s senses for a while but she managed to catch a guards words to a strung up elf, and more importantly his reply.
“f.....fig...ht... AAgh...”
Great he fights to save me pain, though it only serves to help his conscience. They will no doubt torture me anyway.
“I wish that my God would let me fight” Seliina mumbled to herself, “I would rather feel pain where I can at least do something about how I meet it.”

You may fight… These words entered her head[i] My lord are you sure?[i](her reply. You may kill in the arena.

“You, guard! If he fights let me fight with him.” Seliina shouted this in a weak and hoarse voice that hadn’t been used in a while. She hoped that the guards would think that her reasons for fighting were because she owed this Elf that had saved her pain.

“What’s this the elf b*tch speaks?” the guard turned from the strung up elf. “I took your silence to mean that you wished not to fight?”

“Please, let me pay my debt.”
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Unread 23 Feb 2005, 18:49   #32
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

ooc: More human, heh. Considering ninety percent of that was copy and paste I seriously doubt that is so.


"Ambush!"

"Go get out of here! It's a trap!"

"We can't hold them off!"

"Too... many..."

"Arrrgggghhhhh!!!"

"Nooooo! Please no..."

*WHACK!*


*The image of the guard's club bearing down on her was sudden enough to wake Jasmine with a start. Nightmares of the violent incident slowly faded into the dim darkness of reality...*

Ohhh... what the hell happened?

*Memories started flooding back into her stunned mind, about the assassination attempt on another local lord, how simple it had seemed - just another pompas arse to knock off for gold, and then the ambush, people she had grown to admire dying all around her as armoured guards swarmed into the area quickly subduing the small rebel band.*

Guess I was considered interesting enough to take alive... or this is merely the first circle of hell...

*Now that Jasmine had regained consciousness she tried to move but found herself restrainted from doing so... very much so she concluded as she craned her neck back and forth getting a good look at her bonds.*

Well ain't this peachy?

*To make matters worse aches and pains began to make their presence known thorughout her struggles to free herself, not to mention the fact that a monster of a splitting headache was now developing. After a few minutes of this Jasmine was forced by her battered body to cease trying and realisation of the fact that escape was presently impossible caused her to let loose with a long string of the most vilest curse words imaginable, all muffled heavily by the iron muzzle.*

God damned piece of f*cking shit of a f*cking situation this as bloody f*cking well turned out to be!!

*She was about to try again when the door opened and light flooded the small room, not helping Jasmine Hewitt's developing headache one bit. she was forced to blink a couple of times to get used to the light. Straining around as much as possible, Jasmine is able to make out the feet of the edgy guards coming in to check on her. She almost laughed at their nervous whispers and comments.*

Demon? HA! Demon my arse... what kind of demon has horns, scales, and breathes fire? Idiots...

Oh right.


*Jasmine listened to what the guards had to say and was left to ponder it in the darkness when they left. She really didn't like the idea of meeting any doctor, especially in a place like this. Ever since the curse had made it's self present physically her initial reaction to most doctors had been one of mistrust and often it was rightly so.*

This isn't looking good Jas my friend... yep, looks like a real pile of shit you've managed to crawl into this time...

*Her thoughts are interrupted when the heavy iron door to the little room is opened once again, revealling more guards this time she noted to her amusement as well as rather unsoldier-like individual.*

Must be this doctor-type character I'm supposed to meet and greet...

*Sure enough as the guards all stand back at a reasonable distance the other more elderly man starts talking in a manner typical of a doctor.*

"Greetings. I apologize for the restraints, but my men are quite superstitious."

Oh really? Other than being called a 'demon' several times I hadn't really noticed.

"My name is Dr. Lenov, and I am what you would call a, ah . . . great studier of the sciences."

I bet. Nice place you've got here oh great one.

"You are currently in Ironheart prison, brought here I suspect because the ignorant fools who caught you didn't know what to do with you."

Or because they never wanted to see me again. F*ck, Ironheart...

"Now, you seem to be a, ah . . . . fascinating specimen of . . . female, probably draconic in origin. Although you appear somewhat human in shape as well . . . most interesting. I would be lying if I didn't say that it will be a pleasure working with you. You see, as I said before, I am a great studier of the sciences, particularly that of biology."

*Now Jasmine really didn't like where this was going. She gave the good doctor an angry stare as she muffled a few choice words.* Pleasure! I'll give you pleasure you genatric old fart, you touch anyway indecent and I'll make you rue the day you ever learnt of the birds and the bees... pervert.

"Yes indeed, my colleagues and I do important work here . . . most important work. I'll admit that the . . . quality . . . of specimens that we usually have here is quite poor, although there are some exceptional ones, such as one . . . and the other one . . . to make up for such flawed study material in general. I'll admit that the other one had us baffled for quite some time, but I believe that we are nearly at a major breakthrough with him. You, however, seem to be an entirely different sort of creature . . . yes. Well, in any case, I'm sure we'll figure out what makes you tick as well, given enough time. I must admit that I'm looking forward to opening you up and seeing what you look like inside . . . yes, very much so."

*Jasmine continued the angry stare as the doctor came right up to her and forced her muzzle around with his free hand. Staring into his maddened eyes didn't change her current mood one bit.* Oh once I get free of these chains you are so gonna get it motherf*cker. Open ME up? I'm gonna splatter you all over this f*cken room! You piece of shit!

*It is then that Jasmine notices that the good doctor had made a mistake. Her anger took on a smug focus then, sure she would probably get beaten up for it but just a few seconds of a change of attitude in this 'great' studier of sciences was well worth it. She just hoped she would get a good look at his face*

"Now, one way or another, I'm going to find out why you exist and what makes you tick. You can either help me with this by cooperating, or you can fight it, and possibly end up injuring yourself in the process. Now, nod if you understand, and agree to cooperate."

Cooperate this you fiendish little prick.

*Still staring angrily into the crazed doctors eyes, Jasmine let's loose with a small puff of fire into the tight confines of the small iron muzzle. She feels the highly conductive metal heat up against her scaled skin quickly, she feels the heat become unbearable but is able to persist due to the knowledge that if the heat is unbearable against her resistant draconic flesh it's gotta be causing some serious damage to the 'good doctor'.*
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Unread 23 Feb 2005, 19:33   #33
anarcharnate
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
anarcharnate

Current Residence: 3rd Floor, Cells
Restraints: The locked cell door, and a leather muzzle, holding your mouth shut (which is locked in place by a simple padlock - unlockable or smashable, if you could find a suitable rock, and wanted to risk denting your skull)

Seeing a dim light approaching, you recognize the signal that a band of guards was approaching. But that was odd . . . they usually didn't come this way at this time of the day, and it wasn't lunch time yet. With a sinking feeling, you realize that they have come for you. This was it: the Lieutenant had temporarily gotten rid of the evidence by hiding it, and now he was going to destroy it. The patrol of guards stop at your cell, and you see that there are only three of them . . . not very many, but probably more than a match for one of you. The group's leader opens the door, and then very dryly announces, as if pronouncing your death sentence: "Prisoner #16652, the Lieutenant would like to have a . . . word with you. Come along now, and don't make a fuss . . . we'll drag you kicking and scre - well, we'll drag you kicking to the Lieutenant anyway, if we have to."
Novalis raised his head slightly from his slumped position. A deep feeling of dread gnawing its way through his guts, he tried a witty retort though his muzzle which came out as nothing but a pained hiss. He had to get this padlock off, he had to tell the world what he had heard and seen. It could be smashed, he assured himself, could be smashed. And that guard's head looks mighty tough...
Crumpling under a kick from the speaker, Novalis curled into a limp ball and allowed the guards to drag him, with difficulty considering the sheer dead weight, out of the cell.
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Unread 24 Feb 2005, 14:24   #34
Inspectre
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Zappa

Allowing yourself to feint a collapse back into unconsciousness, you wonder if you had really spared the she-elf any real pain. Somehow, you doubted it, as the guards here were truly without decency or honor. Nonetheless, it had been worth a try, and you vowed to repay the guards ten-fold if they broke their word. "Well, that's just peachy . . . I thought you were going to let him choose how we broke the little b*tch next." You hear one of the guards sneer, followed immediately by a sharp kick to your ribs. Instantly your entire left side erupts into pain, your most recent burn wounds starting to feel enflaming from all the jostling they were being put through. You bite back a grunt, preventing yourself from spoiling the illusion of your exhausted faint. "Ah, don't worry about it, she's not going anywhere. We'll drag his sorry *ss up to the Arena, leave him there, and come back for her. Hear that, Elf B*tch? You've still got a date with the Tripod . . . it's just been postponed awhile." The one who offered you the chance to fight replied, before blowing a kiss at the imprisoned she-elf. At this point, the she-elf responded, shouting, “You, guard! If he fights let me fight with him.” “What’s this the elf b*tch speaks?” the guard replied, as you hear him leaving you to walk back to the she-elf's cell. “I took your silence to mean that you wished not to fight?”

“Please, let me pay my debt.” She replied, prompting a snarl from the first guard, who you knew hated elves beyond any reasonable point. "Well, that's just great, two of our little playmates gone in the course of as many minutes . . . now how am I supposed to pass the time?" Again, the guard kicks you in the ribs, causing your burn wounds to flame up all over again . . . you were getting awfully sick of this human. The guard who had made the offer seemed to exchange a few whispered words with the she-elf, and then thrust his hand through the bars of her cell, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her rapidly forward. This resulted in her slamming face-first into the bars of her cell, after which the guard let her go to fall to the floor, rather dazed. "Alright, take Tough Guy up to the Arena, I'll get a few more guards and follow you up with Little Missy Elf in a minute." He then said, and you then felt the two guards hoist you up onto your feet, but not before clapping a pair of manacles around your wrists, in according with what was evidently the prison's standard procedure for moving prisoners around. "Alright elf, wake up and let's go. You want to fight, so you'll d*mn well fight . . . but rest assured, if you don't die in The Pit, you're coming straight back here . . . and then you'll stay down here for the rest of your miserable life."

No Dachi

A few moments after calling out, the guards unlock your cell door. Only one guard enters, however, equipped only with a pair of manacles and a club, which he held in one hand. Stopping a foot or two in front of you, the guard shows the manacles to you, and smiles. Not quite understanding why he was smiling, you stand there for a moment, confused, before he rams the butt end of his club into your sternum. Your breath exploding out of your lungs, you fall to your knees, only to have your head nearly taken off as the guard cracks you in the right temple with his club. Collapsed in a dazed heap on the floor, you dimly feel the guard snap the manacles onto your wrists, and then somewhat painfully haul you up onto your feet by pulling on the connecting chain. Still dazed and being led by the chain, you allow the guard to half-lead, half-drag you out of your cell. The guards then position themselves so that only one guard, the guard that had just hit you, was in front, and then rest of them were behind you. As soon as you're clear of the door, the lead guard shuts it, and starts marching down the corridor, club held loosely in his hand. "Move it!" One of the guards behind you snarls, and you feel your left kidney explode into pain as he rams the hilt of his short sword into your back. Again, you nearly fall to your knees, but fear of what the guards would do to you then prompts you to start staggering down the hallway, the guards closely behind. As you pass by one of the cells, you hear one of the prisoners within cat call at the guards. From the corner of your eye, you can see one of the guards behind you stop, bring the light crossbow he was carrying up into a firing position, point the weapon at the cell where the cat call originated, and fired. Evidently the guard must have been aiming low, and at a sensitive spot: the loud, unceasingly screams suddenly coming from the cell informed you of that. Smiling grimly, the guard quickly reloaded his crossbow, and then hurried on to catch up to the rest of you. Life in Ironheart, it seemed, was never going to be easy, even on the second floor.

flapjack

Taking your silence to mean that you weren't about to put up a fight, one of the guards enters, armed with a club and a length of chain. "On your knees, scum!!" He shouts, slamming his club into the side of your left kneecap. The blow nearly knocks your left leg out from under you, and you are quick to comply with his demands, as he's already pulling his arm back for a second blow. Wordlessly, the guard then attaches the length of chain to the front of your collar, and then pulls savagely up on it, jerking you back up onto your feet. "Alright, let's go." The lead guard calls, and the six of you set out. From the dark depths of the third floor of cells, you ascend past numerous guard checkpoints, and are quickly waved through . . . the guards had no reason to slow down a condemned man's pace, it seemed. Eventually, you reach the ground floor of Ironheart - the Barracks, although with few windows, it wasn't much brighter up here anyway. The guards continue to lead you through the heart of the complex, although for whatever reason, instead of going up a flight of stairs, they lead you into a side room. Shoving you over to one of the walls, they slide the chain connected to your collar through a ring bolted into the wall, and then pull down on it, resulting in the end connected to your collar to pull up. Once you were standing on the tips of your toes to avoid the collar pressing into your neck too hard, then lock the chain in place and all leave. You're not alone for long, however: soon enough a single guard enters the room, wearing a belt covered in knives of all sorts of wicked shapes and sizes. "The Lieutenant sends his regards, and bid me to tell you that he will see you shortly. While you're waiting, however, the Lieutenant thoughtfully suggested that I come to keep you company, so . . . here I am!" The guard spreads his arms out wide and grins, before reaching down to his belt to pull out one of the smaller knives. "I think we should see how well you can tolerate pain first, yes? A few cuts to the chest ought to do nicely." So saying, the guard confidently approaches you.

Dunin Hemm

"Good." The guard who had made the offer said, then turned to his three companions and ordered, "Get him out of there." The trio of guards was quick to respond to their apparent leader's commands, and within minutes you found yourself being led up several flights of stairs, your hands manacled in front of you. Eventually, you come to a waiting area of sorts, as evidence by several long benches scattered throughout the room, with a fair number of people (prisoners, you assume) sitting on them. The reason that they are sitting quickly becomes evident, as the guards sit you down on one of the benches, right on top of a large metal ring. Unlocking one of your manacles, a guard quickly slips it through the metal ring, and then closes it around your wrist again. "Don't go anywhere." The guard snickers, and then backhands you across the face for good measure. Ignoble dog. You, of course, could do little about it, with your hands chained together through a metal ring, keeping you effectively held down to the bench. "Eventually, someone will come for you, and then you'll fight . . . and you'd better put on a good show, or it's to the Torture Chamber for you . . . us guards have to get some kind of entertainment out of you scum." The guard sneered, and then walked away with the rest of his companions, presumably to go get another prisoner.

Fluffie

You wondered just what kind of sick f***er thought up this kind of treatment for you, the great Tristam . . . and quickly realized that you probably wouldn't want to meet whoever it was in person. You mumble a reply to the guard's taunt, and he quickly opens the door to your cell. Entering with his short sword and a length of chain, the guards comes up to you are says, "Down on your knees, scum." Apparently, he was kinky like that, or maybe it was just the standard procedure the guards had, plus a little extra humiliation for the prisoners. How it usually went was you'd get down on your knees, the guard would attach the chain to your collar, and then either drive his knee into your face, or simply hoist you back up onto your feet by pulling on the chain, proving to himself just how much of his b*tch you were. You'd show him soon enough though . . . you'd show all these sick ****s. But for now, you could only comply, so you shrug your shoulders and drop down onto your knees. The guard quickly attaches the chain, and then raises his short sword high above his head. He stands up on his tip-toes to get a little extra height, and then sends the hilt crashing down onto the side of your head. Got you to see some stars with that one, he did . . . b*stard. Cackling with glee, the guard yanks your half-conscious self up onto your feet, and then leads you out of your cell like some noble taking his dog for a walk. Oh yes, they'd all pay for this, starting with him, and going down to all the other people who'd abused you in this sh*thole, and then working your way back up to the Warden yourself, or maybe even olbaid again, if you could find him.

Bakan

At your taunting comment, all of the Malevolent Seven stiffen, but Mathers is the first to react. With a resounding crack he snaps your head around with the heavily-weighted end of his crossbow, and with a second blow sends you crashing back into the wall, your left arm screaming in pain. Another of the guards, who you know was named Luther, and had been the older brother of Stevens, snarled, and raised his heavy crossbow to point at your chest. "Try something, freak. This drugged crossbow bolt has your name written on it." Although it had taken them awhile, the staff of Ironheart had eventually found a drug that worked quite well in knocking you out cold . . . it had only taken a few hundred injects of various, often highly toxic, substances to find it. Now, you knew, all of your guards had the tips of their crossbows painted with it, ready for use to send you rather quickly into nightmare-land. Fortunately for you this time, the leader of the band, Arguile, pushed Luther's crossbow down with the flat of his sword. "No need to damage the prisoner just yet, Luther . . . we can do that after the good Doctor is finished with him." Arguile smiles at you, and you recall all of the many times that after they had dragged you back to your cell from the doctor's latest experiment, they added injury to insult by beating and cutting you until finally you collapsed in a blood of your own blood and they dared not risk hurting you any further. It used to take you hours to recover from such beatings . . . now it was more like days. Sensing the anger deep in your heart, the other presence that you felt from time to time within you, lurking in the shadows of your mind, came forward. Kill them . . . it hissed. They want to kill them, don't you? I can give you that power, if you wish . . .. You had surrendered to that presence's demands only a few times, and each time the price had been high. You suspected that it could certainly grant you the power to kill all of the Malevolent Seven at once . . . but you also suspect that it just might cost you your soul in the bargain. Walking forward, Arguile came to stand over you, looking down at your deceptively frail form with a sneer. You slowly and painfully got yourself up onto your feet at his command, and held your hands forward. Although you already were wearing a set of manacles, the guards had learned to be quite cautious, and so Arguile snapped another pair around your outstretched wrists. The Malevolent Seven then stepped out of the way, and you led the way out of your cell and into the Labs. It was only a short walk to Dr. Krankov's personal laboratory, nothing more than a short walk down a narrow and even shorted corridor. Beyond the iron door just ahead of you was Dr. Krankov's personal laboratory space. Judging from the screams you hear every night, there were only labs beyond Dr. Krankov's lab, but you had never seen them, just the door on the far side of the room from where Dr. Krankov always entered. Today, you actually found him waiting for you. Upon seeing you push open the unlocked down to his lab, he openly beamed at you. "Hello, Test Subject #54 . . . how are we today?" The doctor only smiled when he had something particularly painful or dangerous in mind for you . . . . today . . . today was evidently not going to be a good day. And judging by the width of the doctor's smile, no, it was not going to be a good day at all.

Flaag

At your comments, the guards actually laugh. The one who made the offer to you reached his hand out to rather painfully wrap around your jaw, turning you so that you were looking directly into his eyes. "Trust me, elf, you will feel pain before you die, and you will beg for mercy before we are through with you . . . count on it." He then lets you go, the sudden motion leaving you swinging back and forth. "Cut him down, and bring him up to the Arena floor as soon as possible." The guard says, before turning and leaving. "Yessir." one of the guards says, grinning at you as he moved over to the winch that had been used to pull the chain connected to your feet up. Still beaming widely at you, he idly flips the clasp holding the chain in place up, and your weight is enough to send the chain rapidly spinning off the winch . . . and sending you crashing to the floor, head-first. Fortunately, you had dived out of enough windows in your time to know how to fall, and so most of the force of you hitting the ground was absorbed by your one shoulder, instead of your neck. It still hurt like a b*tch though. The two guards, now that they'd had their fun though, were quick to disconnect the chain from your fetters, and haul you back up onto your feet. One guard then carefully kept his crossbow pointed at your midsection while the second went to get help, and came back with two more guards. The guards, now four in all, lead you out of the Torture Chamber at last, and started you on your long journey up from the twisting depths of the Third Floor up to the new Arena.

Hawk101

The guards rather nervously back up after one of them opens the cell door, and commands for you to come out. Upon seeing one of the guards still pointing his heavy crossbow at you, you taunt him, and like the weakling he is, he shrinks back from you reflexively. A moment later however, and he comes back to his sense, stepping forward to slam the heavily-weighted end of his crossbow around into your knee, knocking you off your feet despite your strength (at least I think that's what happened, feel free to correct me. )

Reassuring the guards that you'd be "nice", you somewhat painfully get back onto your feet due to how your hands are chained, making it difficult. Nonetheless, you persevere, and within moments are back up on your feet again, following one guard while the rest of them follow you, no doubt all of them with their little toys pointed directly at your back. Cowards, all of them.

From the third floor, it's only a short distance to the mines, and you're actually one of the first ones to get there, for your shift at least. As you arrive, you can see the remaining prisoners for the last shift stagger up out of the darkness, utterly exhausted. The guards quickly unchain each of them from the long slave line, and then lead them away back to their cells individually. Hearing the guards bark at you, you step forward, and relatively docily allow them to attach a chain to the one wrapped around your waist. This chain was the tail end of a thick slave line chain, commonly used by slavers to drive their cargo from place to place. From you to the opposite end of the chain were five pairs of shackles, which would in a few moments be filled with more prisoners, and a few moments after that, a group of guards would lead you down into the dark tunnels to mine away. A shovel is thrust into your hands by a guard, and you take it gladly, wishing that you could show him what a shovel could really be used for. For now, however, doing so would serve only to get your beaten, maybe killed, and you were not the kind of fool to commit suicide. You'd bid your time a bit longer . . . To test your shovel, you immediately attack the nearby earthen wall with gusto. After a shovel-full or two of dirt, the wooden handle of the shovel didn't break, convincing you that this one would do for now . . . and, maybe later, could be used for cracking a few guard skulls.

Kal'rek

For what had to be the thousandth time, you gingerly test your restraints, and found them as unyielding as before. Your arms were already starting to ache again, and you knew the only relief you'd have on that account would be when the guards unchained you to strap you into another one of their foul devices. The pain was nothing to what you had experienced before thought, and you could easily ignore it, especially with the aid that your god provided. With little else to do, you continued to listen in on the exchange between your fellow elf and the brutal guards. As could be expected, he agreed to fight in the Arena, although you knew it was a useless gesture. The guards, however, seemed perturbed at this agreement by the elf to their demands. "Well, that's just peachy . . . I thought you were going to let him choose how we broke the little b*tch next." The most hateful of the three guards snarled, glaring at you while he delivered a sharp kick to the now passed-out elf's ribs. The guard who had made the offer only smiled, however, and replied, "Ah, don't worry about it, she's not going anywhere. We'll drag his sorry *ss up to the Arena, leave him there, and come back for her. Hear that, Elf B*tch? You've still got a date with the Tripod . . . it's just been postponed awhile." Still smiling, the guard blew a kiss at you, and you felt an icy hand momentarily grip your heart as you realized that this reprieve would be short, assuming none of the other guards here wanted to have some fun with you, and that as soon as your current batch of tormentors returned, they would more than make up for the lost time.

Despairing, you implored to your God, asking for the chance to fight, and surprisingly enough, your request is granted. Emboldened by your God's permission to take your chances in the Arena, you call out to the guard, “You, guard! If he fights let me fight with him.”

“What’s this the elf b*tch speaks?” the guard replied, as he walks back towards your cell. “I took your silence to mean that you wished not to fight?”

“Please, let me pay my debt.” You replied, adding "of pain" to the end in your head. This prompts a snarl from the particularly hateful guard, who said, "Well, that's just great, two of our little playmates gone in the course of as many minutes . . . now how am I supposed to pass the time?" Again, the guard kicks the unconscious elf at his feet in the ribs.

By now, the guard who you had been speaking with was standing directly in front of your cell. Leaning in close, he whispered to you, "If you think fighting in the Arena is going to be any better than this, elf, you're wrong. But don't worry . . . I'll tell the boys upstairs to go easy on you, so that when you lose, instead of being gutted like the worthless animal you are, you'll be sent back down here . . . permanently. See that Iron Coffin over there? I'll keep its coals nice and hot, just for you." The guard says, and then suddenly thrusts his hand through the bars to your cell, grabbing a hold of a fistful of your hair. With a rather firm grip on your head, he then jerks his hand back through the bars, dragging you head first into the bars, causing your forehead to crack loudly against them, and you to see stars. Apparently satisfied, the guard lets go, and you crumple to the floor, still dazed from the sudden, brutal impact. "Alright, take Tough Guy up to the Arena, I'll get a few more guards and follow you up with Little Missy Elf in a minute." The guard said, then walked away from your cell, presumably to find more guards with some spare time on their hands.

Hewitt

Seeing the opportunity to get some early revenge, you breathe a small puff of fire out of your mouth. With the iron muzzle in the way, most of the heat is still retained in your mouth and immediately around your face, searing even your fire-resistant flesh. Against the doctor's unprotected hand, however, the effect is even more immediate and serious: his hand is effectively burnt to a crisp. "OH GOD!! AAAAAAHAHHHH!!!!" he screams, backing away from you while first waving, and then cradling, his destroyed limb. Before he turns to stumble away from you, half-blinded by the pain, you could see just how much damage you had done: his hand had been seared away to the bone, and even they were blacked from the heat. The best part was, the heat had already cauterized it, so the best that the doctor could hope for was that infection would settle into what was left of the flesh further up his arm, and that he'd die from complications in a few days. Otherwise, he was stuck with an excruciatingly painful, crippling wound for the rest of his life.

Unfortunately, the guards’ reaction to this assault on their beloved doctor was rapid, and brutal. Quickly spreading out to surround you, all eight guards drew some form of blunt weapon, and then closed in. You're not sure how long the beating continued, but you are aware of when it ended: when one of the guards swung his club around as hard as he could, plowing it into your jaw. The iron muzzle wrapped around your head absorbed most of the blow, you're sure of that . . . it was the only way you could think of why the blow hadn't dislocated your jaw. As it was, a few moments later, you awoke to find your mouth full of blood, and had just enough time to spit it out before passing out again.
*******

You're not sure of how much time passed by with you unconscious, but when you awoke next, you found yourself on some sort of table. Most of your body was wracked with pain, and your jaw went as thought somebody had cut it off, and then sewn it back on. This was definitely not good news, and about to turn into a disaster, as looking around as much as you were able, you could see that you were in a much larger room than your cell now, and all around you were stands filled with equipment, all of it sharp and painful looking. You were also aware that your iron muzzle was still firmly in place, but now instead of being totally wrapped up in chains, only your arms and legs were held. From the feel of it, it looked like your hands were manacled up above your head to the table, and then lengths of chain were wrapped around your arms and the table, all the way down to your neck, where a single length of chain across your throat kept your head pinned fairly well down. Your legs and feet seemed to be treated the same way, with the chains ending about mid-thigh. (For decency's sake, you still have your torn clothing on you, although most of what was left covering your midriff is gone . . . imagine that. )

Whatever thoughts you were having about how much trouble you were in were suddenly cut short by another one of those wacko doctor appearing in your field of vision. "Good day to you, my name is Dr. Vladimir. And I will be your operating physician for today, due to Dr. Lenov's little . . . accident." The man smiles grimly, and waves his hand. A moment later, six more men appear in your field of vision, all guards. "And these are my assistants. Say hello, boys." All six of them say hello to you in unison, and then remain standing where they are, looking down at you with rather angry leers while your new doctor continues. "I'm sure it'll please you to no end that Dr. Lenov is doing well, all things considered, and that he will make a full recovery, despite the accident caused by his own over-zealousness." At this, Dr. Vladimir sighs. "Regretfully, in order to maintain our busy schedule of dissections and subsequent study, I was pulled off of my own study in order to fill in for Dr. Lenov. I'll have you know that I'm not happy about this, not happy about this at all. However, I am a scientist, and I can't deny that I'm pleased to have first crack at you, even if today is a simple dissection. Now then, do you have anything to say before I begin?" The doctor waits a beat, pointedly ignoring anything you attempting to mumble through your muzzle. He then says simply, "Good. Let's begin." Walking over to one of the nearby stands, he picks up what appears to be much like a common woodman's saw . . . although it's been wickedly curved to a sharp point at the business end. "I suspect that having to use a saw will cause more damage to the scales and underlying tissue than desired, but it’s a necessary evil. Once we stitch her back up it should be a simple matter to cut the stitches next time, instead of having to go to the business of hacking through this carapace." The doctor pauses his apparent monologue for a moment, and looks at his six "assistants" still standing over you. "You had better hold her down during this part, as I suspect she's still able to move around somewhat, and I'd prefer not to accidentally damage anything valuable. Once the shock of having her stomach cavity exposed to open air hits her, she should pass out and be easy to handle from there." Obediently the six guards lay their hands on your arms and legs, pushing them down into the table with what you assume was all their might.

(Relax, you crazy Aussie . . . I'm not going to kill you off or anything bad . . . yet. )

anarcharnate

Although you felt absolute dread gnawing away at your heart, you still managed to bite off a witty retort at the guards. Or, at least, it would have been witty, had the muzzle not been there, turning your retort into nothing more than an angry hiss. "So you want to do this the hard way, eh?" One of the guards say, introducing your stomach to his boot. The blow knocks you to the floor, but accomplishes little other than that. Of course, that wasn't all the guard did to you, as he stomped one of his boots down onto your right hand, pinning it to the floor. Despite yourself you hissed again, this time in pain as the guard ground his boot down into your hand. "Hurts like a b*tch, doesn't it?" The guard asked you, while snapping a pair of manacles around your wrists. Once he accomplished that, however, he removed his foot from your hand, but not before kicking you again, this time in the jaw. Dazed and in somewhat excruciating pain between your hand and your jaw, you reaffirm your resolve to resist until the bitter end, so you curl up into a ball. Having to deal with complete dead weight, the guards have quite a hard time trying to drag you out of your cell, and eventually give up. "F*** this . . . . lets go get Andre." One of the guards grumbles, to the agreement of the other two. Giving you one last hard kick apiece, the three guards leave your cell, going to get Andre . . . Andre the Giantkiller, one of the biggest and strongest guards that worked at Ironheart. You knew without a doubt that should he not be busy beating several prisoners to death at once, he could easily carry you to the Lieutenant, regardless of what you did. "I'll make sure to tell Andre to slam your head against every doorway." The last guard jeered, as he slammed shut your cell door, leaving you once again to your solitude . . . but wait . . . your cell door hadn't locked. For some reason, the door had not closed fully, and the guards had not noticed. Obviously the world was assisting you, giving you a chance to escape your fate. The question was, were you brave enough to take it?
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Unread 24 Feb 2005, 15:39   #35
Dunin Hemm
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

/ooc: Sorry if it's short, but well.... He can't do anything but sit, can he?

Faruk grits his teeth at the stinging pain from the slap, his eyes not gracing the man with even a glance. As he leaves, Faruk is left to sit and wait, chained and unable to do anything about his situation. He looks around at the other prisoners: A pack of dirty men whose bodies are a sight of decline - much like himself.
What will the arena look like? Will he be able to fight himself out of here? He doubts it, but still...
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Unread 24 Feb 2005, 15:54   #36
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Flapjack didn't bother returning a witty comment, he'd save those for later, and started to weave a complex web of illusions around the man. He started by 'moving' himself and the walls forward slightly, so that the guard would be stabbing thin air without knowing it. With that done and the guard still busy thinking of what knife to use, Flapjack continued to spin his web, reducing the light in the room to even lower levels, in the eyes of the guard anyways.

A grim and darkened environment now created, Flapjack created the illusion of a door clicking shut, as if someone had just locked the guard into the room with Flapjack, next up he started to create webs tightly around the guard, making it appear as if dozens of small spiders where now scattered across his body, all busy trying to web him up and bringing up the faces of the man's victims to Flapjack's mind.

With the faces and bodies of the guard's victims, Flapjack started creating ghosts, again only the guard's mind and had them fly at him at odd angles, hoping the combination would send the guard screaming and running out of the room, if he managed to open the door in the first place.
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Unread 24 Feb 2005, 18:59   #37
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
Flaag

At your comments, the guards actually laugh. The one who made the offer to you reached his hand out to rather painfully wrap around your jaw, turning you so that you were looking directly into his eyes. "Trust me, elf, you will feel pain before you die, and you will beg for mercy before we are through with you . . . count on it." He then lets you go, the sudden motion leaving you swinging back and forth. "Cut him down, and bring him up to the Arena floor as soon as possible." The guard says, before turning and leaving. "Yessir." one of the guards says, grinning at you as he moved over to the winch that had been used to pull the chain connected to your feet up. Still beaming widely at you, he idly flips the clasp holding the chain in place up, and your weight is enough to send the chain rapidly spinning off the winch . . . and sending you crashing to the floor, head-first. Fortunately, you had dived out of enough windows in your time to know how to fall, and so most of the force of you hitting the ground was absorbed by your one shoulder, instead of your neck. It still hurt like a b*tch though. The two guards, now that they'd had their fun though, were quick to disconnect the chain from your fetters, and haul you back up onto your feet. One guard then carefully kept his crossbow pointed at your midsection while the second went to get help, and came back with two more guards. The guards, now four in all, lead you out of the Torture Chamber at last, and started you on your long journey up from the twisting depths of the Third Floor up to the new Arena.
Forsten allows the guards to lead him to the arena, putting up as little resistance as possible, slightly rolling his shoulder to work out the extent of the damage to it.
/ooc/ the impact being absorbed by one shoulder isnt a good thing (although it is preferable to neck, and probably the best in the circumstance), the collar bone is the easiest to break in the body, most martial arts falls spread the impact along the arm. This isnt me pointing out mistakes, just giving info./ooc/
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Unread 24 Feb 2005, 19:01   #38
Hewitt
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
(Relax, you crazy Aussie . . . I'm not going to kill you off or anything bad . . . yet. )
ooc: LOL...

Two things before I reply,

Jasmine has a tail... not sure if I mentioned that.

And can she use her fire aura ability to fry the nasty chains away or at the very least some more inconviently groping hands?
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Unread 24 Feb 2005, 19:11   #39
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

A gaurd aproaches Hawk, "Orc eh ?, hehe, see hwo mighty you are after you get crushed under the ground that spawned you from hell"
With this Hawk tightens his grip on the shovel, "Arn't we funi gaurd, u fink u can still besa funi witout ut ed ?"
With this Hawk quickly stabs his shovel at the gaurd's head, stopping just before it touches him,
"Cos i fink dat ud be even more funi, dunt u ?"
Hawk lowers the shovel but quickly swings it sideways into the side of the gaurd's kneecap, snapping his leg almost clean it half.
"phaps lata"
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Unread 24 Feb 2005, 23:28   #40
Inspectre
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Hewitt

/ooc Oops, forgot about that . . . we'll assume it's there somewhere. She can indeed. ooc/
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Unread 25 Feb 2005, 05:49   #41
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
Bakan

At your taunting comment, all of the Malevolent Seven stiffen, but Mathers is the first to react. With a resounding crack he snaps your head around with the heavily-weighted end of his crossbow, and with a second blow sends you crashing back into the wall, your left arm screaming in pain. Another of the guards, who you know was named Luther, and had been the older brother of Stevens, snarled, and raised his heavy crossbow to point at your chest. "Try something, freak. This drugged crossbow bolt has your name written on it." Although it had taken them awhile, the staff of Ironheart had eventually found a drug that worked quite well in knocking you out cold . . . it had only taken a few hundred injects of various, often highly toxic, substances to find it. Now, you knew, all of your guards had the tips of their crossbows painted with it, ready for use to send you rather quickly into nightmare-land. Fortunately for you this time, the leader of the band, Arguile, pushed Luther's crossbow down with the flat of his sword. "No need to damage the prisoner just yet, Luther . . . we can do that after the good Doctor is finished with him." Arguile smiles at you, and you recall all of the many times that after they had dragged you back to your cell from the doctor's latest experiment, they added injury to insult by beating and cutting you until finally you collapsed in a blood of your own blood and they dared not risk hurting you any further. It used to take you hours to recover from such beatings . . . now it was more like days. Sensing the anger deep in your heart, the other presence that you felt from time to time within you, lurking in the shadows of your mind, came forward. Kill them . . . it hissed. They want to kill them, don't you? I can give you that power, if you wish . . .. You had surrendered to that presence's demands only a few times, and each time the price had been high. You suspected that it could certainly grant you the power to kill all of the Malevolent Seven at once . . . but you also suspect that it just might cost you your soul in the bargain. Walking forward, Arguile came to stand over you, looking down at your deceptively frail form with a sneer. You slowly and painfully got yourself up onto your feet at his command, and held your hands forward. Although you already were wearing a set of manacles, the guards had learned to be quite cautious, and so Arguile snapped another pair around your outstretched wrists. The Malevolent Seven then stepped out of the way, and you led the way out of your cell and into the Labs. It was only a short walk to Dr. Krankov's personal laboratory, nothing more than a short walk down a narrow and even shorted corridor. Beyond the iron door just ahead of you was Dr. Krankov's personal laboratory space. Judging from the screams you hear every night, there were only labs beyond Dr. Krankov's lab, but you had never seen them, just the door on the far side of the room from where Dr. Krankov always entered. Today, you actually found him waiting for you. Upon seeing you push open the unlocked down to his lab, he openly beamed at you. "Hello, Test Subject #54 . . . how are we today?" The doctor only smiled when he had something particularly painful or dangerous in mind for you . . . . today . . . today was evidently not going to be a good day. And judging by the width of the doctor's smile, no, it was not going to be a good day at all.
The beating that Bakan goes through after his comments are relatively light compared to what is was used to. Sadly in fact, he was getting more and more used to the pain. Granted it was not a pleasant prospect feeling his wounds stitch themselves together, but a few years ago, he probably would have been curled up in a ball screaming. Now as he pulls himself up after the blow, he feels his arm already healing, and smiling he holds out his hands, so that they can slap additional restraints on him, smiling at them. It was so easy to push their buttons, and eventually, they made mistakes, such as when Stevens made his last one, and judging from Luther’s face, he would not hesitate to kill Bakan, unless he wanted to spend some serious time in the prison as a prisoner.

As he jabbed with his crossbow, Bakan mentally cursed yet laughed, wondering if Luther suffered from Steven’s problem, forgetting key things, like dipping crossbow bolts in the knockout poison before coming over to torture Bakan so more after a torture session. While have a bolt in his side, it was nice to get a decent meal that allowed the wound to heal almost instantly upon removal of the bolt. Of course what happened afterwards was not entertaining in the very least, thanks in part to Luther being very angry over the death of his brother.

Forcing himself to think about the present, Bakan found himself confronted with his other self, whom for reasons unknown, he nicknamed “Harvey” (Eat your hearts out Farscape fans ). While in mental conversation with him, Bakan noticed that time seemed to slow. Nor was he ever able to get a good look at Harvey, for he always hid in the dark, though Bakan was able to make out vague, dragonlike features, pasted onto a humanoid form. Somewhere deep inside, Bakan knew that was what he was be if he granted Harvey full control.

Kill them . . . hissed Harvey. You want to kill them, don't you? I can give you that power, if you wish . . .

Yeah Harvey, but what’s the cost there? Full 24x7 control to my reins, never letting me make a decision, and worst yet, killing innocent humans. Granted, these motherless bastards probably would not be considered human, yet I fear what you would do if we ever escaped. Stay back there foul dragon.

Soon enough…… you will see the truth…. Soon you will beg for my power…… all to soon……

As Harvey faded back into the deepest reaches of Bakan’s mind, he found himself being escorted through the short corridor to Dr. Krankov’s lab. It seems that the Malevolent Seven didn’t like dragging Bakan back from his sessions, for while he may look frail, he heard them grumble how he was heavier than he looked. Not to mention, it was a smaller area to clear of blood and…. Whatever Bakan’s internals might leave behind. At the prodding and insistence of the Malevolent Seven, Bakan pushes open the door, which is unlocked, and walks on in. Seeing Dr. Krankov standing there with a big, shit-eating smile on his face, Bakan feels a sudden rush of hatred. If he ever got the power to get revenge, the first to go would be Dr. Krankov, followed by the rest of the Malevolent Seven.

"Hello, Test Subject #54 . . . how are we today?" asked Dr. Krankov, still smiling like a idiot.

“I’ve been better, suffering from lack of food, uncomfortable living arrangements, you want to do something about that?”

Looking around the lab, Bakan sees that it is configured with THE Chair. THE chair was what they shackled Bakan to when they wanted to show him something horrific, or do something that didn’t involve cutting and slicing, though routinely that still happened. With rather rude pushes from the assorted members of the Malevolent Seven, Bakan was pushed towards the chair, feeling for some strange reason, a feeling of dread overcame him, which was very unusual.
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Unread 25 Feb 2005, 07:52   #42
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

The 'thwack' of Seliina's head didn't sound too good and the contact with the bars left a red blemish on her forhead that started to swell slightly. She blinked away the floating dots in her eyes and shook her head to try and clear it. My cell is open! The guard freed me? She thought, but the cell was still firmly shut.
The Guard was fumbling with restraints and this so called elf 'saviour' the other side of the torture chamber.
"At least my God lets me fight now. I sometimes wonder at his plan, though I have yet to die." Seliina thought. She drew her knees up to her breast so that she was in the feotal position on the cold cell floor and waited for the guard to come and take her to this arena.

On the way to the arena you must not struggle, not until the appropriate moment. Seliina felt robbed, it was her plan to try and kick the first guard in the door, give him a bruise to remember. Her God could have atleast allowed her that. Her head throbed again and her vision ebbed.
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Unread 27 Feb 2005, 07:18   #43
Inspectre
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

/ooc DMing to take place tomorrow . . . and unless you're a masochist, I suggest you make sure that you've posted a reply by then. ooc/

/ooc And no, Dachi, having WoW is *not* a valid excuse. ooc/
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Unread 27 Feb 2005, 11:04   #44
anarcharnate
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Waiting until the lights of the Guards torches had fully faded, Novalis felt his way to the door. Barely able to contain his manic giggles, he eased the old door open, its hinges complaining gently. It was mere hallucination, but the air already tasted fresher. He had to control another fit of giggling. Freedom! He could already taste it...
Suddenly a new voice forced its way into his mind.
"Pray "
Eyes widening desperately, Novalis tried to reason with the voice. He hadn't much time, and if the guards returned with Andre...
"Pray "
Novalis fell to his knees, making uncontrollable obesience. Gradually, after moments which seemed like years, he regained control and fled through the open door still not able to believe his luck- the world wouldn't ruin this one chance. He ran in the opposite direction to the guards, keeping his ears and eyes open for signs of life, as paranoid as a smacked up rabbit.
Seeing an approaching light, Novalis darted into an unlocked and pitch dark cell and fell to knees, praying properly now he had the chance.
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Unread 27 Feb 2005, 11:51   #45
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
/ooc And no, Dachi, having WoW is *not* a valid excuse. ooc/
But, but, but

Roderic winced with every second step as he made his way down the corridor toward the mines - presumably, since the guards had said that was where he was going, and one could only assume that they had been telling the truth, sadistic torturers or not. He heard rather than watched the catcall incident , another unfortunate inmate learning that there were no second chances in Fort Ironheart. Casting his mind about on the matter of each inmate's individual behavior, Roderic suddenly brought to mind something that his father had told him when he was still learning the rapier. "Remember child, water will part and flow around what steel will break upon; just as the willow bends in the storm where the mighty oak is felled." Roderic had not understood the mantra's significence at the time, being only a boy of 7, but a year or so later he reasoned out that it meant one must sometimes be flexible as well as hard. So many inmates, he had observed, reached Fort Ironheart and thought that they could secure their escape by being hard; by resisting the beatings and degradation as steel would; impervious, defiant and inflexible. And, almost inevitably, such inmates were broken - the guards focused their attentions on them, and they snapped, like steel rather than water. Well, Roderic Nikolai Vasiliev was, perhaps, a dangerous man in the right circumstances (not, for instance, when shackled), but he was certainly not steel. He would crash against the rocks, certainly, and feel their force, but he would not be sundered on their edge. He would part around them, then join behind them to re-form the mighty river. Because, after all, water in significent force could be a dangerous thing as well...
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Unread 27 Feb 2005, 12:31   #46
Fluffie
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Tristram walks along. There was little else he could do, except for maybe...

"Hmmm mmm-mmm pppffffff hmmm-mmm-mmmmmmmm!"

...sing a song! He hoped the guards liked this one, it was really funky.

Once, good old Tristram (of course, he wasn't named that back then, nor did he look like this) had travelled into the future of another realm, somewhere in another part of the universe hidden in the fourthysixth dimension, right next to the diner on the highway to Las Vegas... On the moon. Yes indeed, it had been a really icky dimension that was very tricky to find, probably to keep all its filth away from the rest of... well everyone's but their existence.

Anyhow, on this crazy planet that the people that lived on it called Htrea, there was this über-slut called Sraeps Yentirb that actually sung very catchy music at times, that had never managed to quite entirely leave his head. Strange things, but maybe the guards'd like it. They were, after all, gifted with the blessed possession of testosterone!

Thinking about the song, Tristram remembered Olbaid hadn't liked it. Silly fellow that guy, with his really f00ked up face and stuff. Did make great tea though, but complaining about his cookies had really pissed him off...

Yeah. That had been tough luck.

But hey!

Maybe these guards would have tea with him later if he just kept on singing!

"Hmm-mmm ffff pffff hmm-hmm-hmmmmmmmmm...!"
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Unread 27 Feb 2005, 13:45   #47
Zappa Tenderlea
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

pretending still to be dazed, I let the guards do their thing, and follow
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Unread 27 Feb 2005, 17:04   #48
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
She can indeed.
ooc: Escape time

"OH GOD!! AAAAAAHAHHHH!!!!"

*Jasmine gives out a gleefully evil look as she stares on at the maimed Dr Lenov. She snickers audibly when she sees the flash of blacked bone.*

Who's opening up who now you perverted freak? HA!

*Jasmine's snickers turn into laughs as the insane doctor continues to frail about in deep agony. Her laugher starts to die down however, when the inevitiable moment arrives with the guards forming up around her, drawing their battons and preparing to beat her senseless. Jasmine didn't care, as far as she was concerned the better than expected roasting of that prick was well worth far more than anything these pathetic cretins could dish out. Jasmine made certain to give each and everyone of them an amused look milking as much personal gratification out of the moment as possible.

The guards looked real pissed.*

Oh boy. Here it comes....

*They all moved in at once and simply began bashing away at random. Jasmine cringed from every blow but refused to cry out. She wasn't going to let them enjoy this if she could help it. The chains took most of the impact from the blows which was probably the only reason why she hadn't yet heard and felt any bones break. Eventually after a while, the beating had become simply one long, drawn out body ache. It all ended for Jasmine when a single devestating blow knocked her out cold...*

"Jasmine..."

"Jasmine..."

"Give in to me Jasmine..."

No......


*Jasmine woke coughing and spluttering. In those few groggy moments Jasmine's world was reduced to an encompassing globe of pain filled with bells ringing and a bad metallic taste in her mouth. That taste turned out to be her own blood and she soon realised her mouth was full of it. The effort of spitting it out made her feel dizzy, and she had just enough time to mumble one curse word before falling back into unconsciousness.*

"My essence grows..."

"You cannot escape it Jasmine..."

I am strong enough to hold you back beast.

"Oh really? Then why does my form mark your flesh? Day after day I take another little piece from you. Soon, I'll have enough to take the rest in one fell swoop. It is inevitiable..."

It's going to be a long time before that happens dragon. Plenty of time for me to find a way to eradicate you.

"Heh heh heh... I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer. You cannot eradicate me Jasmine, your search is futile... give in..."

NO!


*Jasmine woke with a sudden start as if waking from a nightmare, her body involitarily taking a deep breath and trying to lurch forwards. She instantly wished it hadn't though, the added pain from the heavy chains biting into her arms and legs causing her to wince yet again.*

F*ck!

*The beating had left her body raw and tender like a well battered piece of steak. Hell, she felt like a well battered piece of steak. It seemed to ache everywhere, especially her jaw. That last blow to the head must've had a lot of weight behind it... She also found herself on top of some weird large table and unable to move, chained heavily by each limb in a spreadeagled fashion. Looking down see could even see that they had even bolted her tail down to the tables surface with a couple of extra manacles, freshly installed by the look of them.*

Well this doesn't look to good...

*Jasmine quickly noted that this room was much larger than the cell she had be beaten in. She also noted with interest the several shelves full of sharp and pointy instruments. Special interest.*

REALLY doesn't look good...

*It is at that moment that someone enters Jasmine's field of vision and gains her attention.*

"Good day to you, my name is Dr. Vladimir. And I will be your operating physician for today, due to Dr. Lenov's little . . . accident."

*Jasmine rolls her eyes when the idiot waves at her. Great. Another wackjob. She turns her head to the side when six more men enter the room.*

"And these are my assistants. Say hello, boys."

"Hello."


Um, ok... that's not creepy...

"I'm sure it'll please you to no end that Dr. Lenov is doing well, all things considered, and that he will make a full recovery, despite the accident caused by his own over-zealousness."

Good. Hope the little prick has to live with that to a ripe, stinking old age.

"Regretfully, in order to maintain our busy schedule of dissections and subsequent study, I was pulled off of my own study in order to fill in for Dr. Lenov. I'll have you know that I'm not happy about this, not happy about this at all. However, I am a scientist, and I can't deny that I'm pleased to have first crack at you, even if today is a simple dissection. Now then, do you have anything to say before I begin?"

*Jasmine raises her eyebrows and gives Dr Vladimir a look of mocking amusement. Oh! ho! ho! What do we have here? A funny man...*

"Mmphpht." F*ckwit.

"Good. Let's begin."

*Jasmine continues to leer at the doctor... until he picks up the medical saw. That's when it begins to falter.*

What the hell is that?

"I suspect that having to use a saw will cause more damage to the scales and underlying tissue than desired, but it’s a necessary evil. Once we stitch her back up it should be a simple matter to cut the stitches next time, instead of having to go to the business of hacking through this carapace."

You have got to be shiting me.

"You had better hold her down during this part, as I suspect she's still able to move around somewhat, and I'd prefer not to accidentally damage anything valuable. Once the shock of having her stomach cavity exposed to open air hits her, she should pass out and be easy to handle from there."

Oh hell no.

*Jasmine starts struggling with all her might. Pain or no pain, there was no way in hell that she was going to let some wacko cut her open with a modified woodsman's saw. She struggled with all her might against the chains but it was of no use. Too make matters worse the guards moved into position then, making any further struggle impossible. Jasmine cried out in frustration. She watched Dr Vladimir slowly approach with that menacing saw of his and wished deeply she could burn him the same way she had burned Dr Lenov.*

Wait a second... Of course!

*She looked around at the guards all holding her down and almost laughed. She could burn someone in this position, just not the doctor... that would have to wait until after. Her grin hidden by the iron muzzle, Jasmine closed her eyes and let herself relax a little as she concentrated on the internal focal point for the dragon's fire aura defense.*

"What's this? You're actually calling on me for help? How amusing."

Think of it this way beast... if I die, you die.

"Alright. Fair enough."

[ooc]Please note, the next part is going to take a few liberties. If you don't like where it goes feel free to send in more squads of guards to beat me to a bloody pulp. [/ooc]

*Jasmine's body goes still and for a few seconds it is wondered if she has simply fainted from the prospect of having her stomach cut open. Then suddenly without warning a flaming wreath leaps out of no where and surrounds Jasmine completely. The fire burns with unnatural intensity and it's sudden unexpected appearance no doubt causes the nearby guards much pain as the searing flames scour deep into their flesh.*

When is anyone going to learn I am not to be touched? Heh.

*Eyes now fully open once again, Jasmine stares at the more than likely shocked doctor as she uses her experience to concentrate the intensity of the shield around her arms and legs. As the metal glows red with heat, Jasmine puts all her physical strength into breaking the weaking chains. Groaning with effort, she tries to pull her limbs towards her body with all her might... with the earlier beating and searing heat this also hurts like hell. Neverless she does not give up and finally before the guards can recover from their own pain and shock she breaks free from the table.*

"MMPHA!" He-yah!

*With arms and legs free Jasmine moves quickly. Her first move is to grab hold of the throat chain and use it as an anchor as she yanks her clawed feet up swiftly into the lower jaw of Dr Vladimir. This movement frees her tail as well as knocking the mad scientist painfully back to his senses so as her hindquarters land back on the table, Jasmine forcably yanks the throat chain up just high enough to squeeze her head through and rolls of the table.

By now the guards have recovered from their burns and are making moves to prevent her escape. Normally they would've had the upper hand if this was a standard cell. But it wasn't and as such Jasmine was surrounded by a number of mobile shelves filled with sharp pointy things. With one swift movement one guard drops dead, a scalpal thrown by Jasmine buried deep in his jugglar. As the rest rush in, Jasmine ducks under another guard and stabs him in the back with a pair of scissors. Using the momentum of the guards against them she immediately decks another guard with a backhanded blow across the side of his head as he turned towards her and high kicked another right in front of her in the groin so hard the impact shock to the base of the spine is enough to render him unconscious.*

Oh that's gotta hurt.

*Twenty seconds from rolling off the table, Jasmine has already killed one guard, fatally injuried another and knocked two more out cold. The last two come at her at once, both with battons raised ready to smash her draconic head in. In response she quickly side steps to face one guard and grabs his batton arm as he moves to strike using his own strength against him as she swiftly twists his arm, dislocating his shoulder with a hearty CRACK! The man screams in pain as Jasmine then uses him as a human shield against his companion, keeping her distance just long enough for her to get the right footing and throw the guard into a nearby wall which he hits head first with another heart CRACK!... only where the first crack sounded like sticks breaking this sounds like a watermelon exploding. The thrown guard slumps to the ground, blood trailing from his head.

Jasmine is now facing the last guard that she had kept at bay. With his companion no longer in between himself and Jasmine he moves in with anger to land a fistful blow to the side of her cranium. Too much anger as it turns out as Jasmine is able to dodge the wild swing easily and grab hold of his arm in her vice like grip. Holding his arm in her right hand she punches the guard in the gut with her left before he can swing with his other arm. She punches him a second, third then fourth time in the stomach then realises him as the man begins to puke violently. She finishes him off with a solid kick to the head. With the last guard having been dealt with she looks distainfully around the room.*

Pathetic cretins. Just like bullies, defenseless when a real challenge comes along.

*She takes another look around the room.*

A lot of useful stuff here... but not long before someone is bound to check in on the 'operation'.

*Currently, only two other figures besides herself were moving around the room, the guard whom she had stabbed in the back with a pair of scissors was moaning softly as he rolled half paralysied on the floor and Dr Vladimir presently cowering in a corner cradling the blood poring from his broken nose. She spots the door into the lab then considers the best way to seal it off until she was ready to make a proper break for it.*

Hmm... those shelves might do the trick...

*Grabbing a medical shelf, Jasmine carries it over to the door knocking out the paralyised guard with a kick to the head because she was becoming irritated by his whinning. She locks the door from the inside (if this is possible) first and then props the fairly weighty shelf against the door so the handle is jammed closed, effectively barring the door. Uncertain of how much force this could take she quickly moves all of the remaining shelves into position in front of the door.*

There. That ought to hold it at least for a little while.

*Next on the agenda was that damn iron muzzle. Jasmine hadn't worn it for long but already she dislike the thing... she would've hated it outright if it wasn't for the fact that it was the instrument with which she had mained Dr Lenov.*

Heh, everything has a plus side...

*Grabbing a fresh scalpal from the dishevalled shelves lying against the door, Jasmine sets her self to picking the lock holding the muzzle in place. It is your standard, simple paddlock and as such only takes Jasmine a few seconds to unlock. When it springs open with that distinct clicking sound it makes, Jasmine throws off the lock and yanks open the retched muzzle quicker than a monkey would take to adopt an uncle.*

"PHEW! *Takes a deep breath.* Am I f*cken glad to get that piece of shit off or what."

*Now completely free, she walks over to Dr Vladimir with a smug look on her face. Kicking away the medical saw to the far side of the room, she pulls the injuried doctor to his feet by grabbing hold of his broken nose and threatening to twist it. She steps up behind him and sticks the scalpal edge up against his throat.*

"As for you 'doctor', you're going to lead me out of here and if you or anyone else decides not to coorperate, I'll kill you... then escape on my own anyway."
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Unread 1 Mar 2005, 20:21   #49
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Dunin Hemm

Sitting chained to the bench, you can do little but watch the other prisoners in silence. Some of the ones that are closer together exchange soft whispers - perhaps comparing notes against opponents? Whatever the case, no one is close to you, and so talking is not an option, even had you wanted to speak. Several minutes pass, and then the door at the far end of the hall opens. Evidently, this door led to the Arena, as several guards walk in, escorting several bloodied prisoners. One prisoner, heavily chained, thrashed in the grip of no less than four guards as they bodily dragged him over to a nearby bench. His shirt is soaked with blood, and the area around his chin and throat is stained with blood. All of the prisoners nearest to the scene avert their eyes, and it is only with great difficulty that the guards manage to press him down into a seat and chain him to it, far away from everyone else. A moment later the guards drag in a second, unconscious prisoner, who appears to have had, in addition to his other wounds, his left ear bitten or torn off. The two guards dragging this badly wounded man did not seem overly concerned with this, however, but rather amused. "Heh, and The Animal wins again, I see. You owe me five gold." One of the guards said with a smirk. "Bah, today's matches aren't over yet. The Animal will be tamed soon enough." The second guard replied. The pair of guards dump the wounded man onto the bench near to you, and as they chain his unconscious form to the bench, the second guard looks at you with great interest. "Hey, I bet this guy could handle The Animal . . . he looks like he's got some spine to him." "Bah, he'd only win because The Animal is tired -" "The Animal is never tired, and he's always hungry." The second guard interrupted, pointing at the insane man, who was still thrashing around, clearly determined to break free and attack another of his fellow prisoners. "Alright, alright. Next match - Tall Dark Stranger versus The Animal!!" The first guard announced, striding forward to unlock the chain holding you to the bench. Pulling you up to your feet, the guard whispered to you, "One piece of advice for when you're fighting The Animal: watch your throat." The guard clacks his teeth together loudly, and then laughs. You are then quickly led out of the room and into the Arena itself, a quartet of guards with The Animal following. The room that you are lead into is a square thirty by thirty room. The floor is actually earthen, although the passing of feet over it many times has made it nearly as hard as stone. The ceiling that you would expect to see over your head is gone: instead, it is instead far above your head, nearly fifty feet. Between you and the ceiling is a number of balconies, lining each wall of the room several times, stacked on top of one another all the way to the ceiling. Even from your position near the door you can see that each balcony has several people – guards, you presume, by their rowdy shouts and cat calls. “Get moving.” One of the guards mutters to you, giving you a hardy shove towards the center of the room, and it is only now that you notice the room’s central feature: a large pit dug into the floor, about fifteen feet wide. The guards lead you around to the far side of the pit, and thrown a rope ladder down into it. Meanwhile, you notice the guards wrestling The Animal up to the edge of the pit on the far side from you, closest side to the door: evidently they didn’t want to work too hard at getting what was evidently the crowd favorite into the Pit. As the guards uncuff your hands, you can hear the guards above on the balconies starting to chant “Animal! Animal! Animal!!!” For his part, the man known as Animal didn’t respond to hearing his moniker being chanted, but only continued to struggle and bite at the guards, until finally they got the last of his chains off, and shoved him down into the Pit. Like a cat, the Animal landed on his feet onto the earthen floor almost ten feet below, absorbing the shock by bending his knees and rolling forward onto his hands. Looking up at you with what could only be hate, the Animal snarled, baring his teeth at you and the guards in defiance. The guard that released you stepped back, gesturing to a rack of weapons nearby. Although the rack contained a wide variety of weapons, all of them appeared to be dull or weakened in some way. “Pick a weapon and get down there.” The guard grunted as he pulled out a light crossbow and pointed it in your general direction.

/ooc Your pretty much have your choice of melee weapons, provided its not *too* exotic. ooc/

flapjack

As the guard draws his small knife and begins to approach you, you begin to weave a web of illusions around the guard, starting with creating an illusion of yourself and the wall you were chained to appear about two feet closer than you really were: that ought to be enough breathing room to keep the guard from accidentally injuring you while he was busy stabbing at the illusion. This accomplished, you began to lower the lighting of the room in the guard’s mind, projecting the image that the lantern in one corner of the room, the room’s sole light source, was starting to sputter out. So far, your collar wasn’t doing much to stop your attempts to save yourself, although you could feel it beginning to grow warm around your neck. Evidently, it knew something was up, putting it leagues ahead of the guard, who even now was busying stabbing your illusionary self in the shoulder with his little carving knife. Next, you worked on creating the illusion of the door to the room being locked, a simple enough illusion, requiring only the sound of a faint click to simulate. The guard evidently wasn’t totally oblivious: he stopped hacking at “you’ when the door clicked, and looked over his shoulder at it. Shrugging, the man called a moment later, “I guess I’ll knock when I’m done, shouldn’t be long!!” He then turned back to continue his work, only to find your latest illusion waiting for him. Dozens of small spiders crawled from the cracks in the walls and floor, crawling up his legs and attempting to web him up. Shouting in alarm, the man began to furiously slap at his legs with his free hand, swatting off and crushing the spiders that only he and you saw. This illusion had alerted the collar that magic was being used, and without warning it suddenly flared to life, searing your throat to dust. In some corner of your mind, however, you realize that your throat was not really burning like dry kindling: the pain caused by the collar was barely more real that your illusions. Nonetheless, it hurt, and for a moment, your concentration was disrupted. The guard, rather confused at the sudden disappearance of the spiders, shook his head in confusion, quickly regaining his bearings. As quickly as it had started, the collar flared out, leaving you only with a bit of a sore throat. Although you were sure you didn’t want to know what the collar was going to do about your latest illusion, you knew you had to try: either that, or the guard was going to cut you to pieces, and then the Lieutenant in all-likelihood would kill you. Slowly. With one last push, you tap into the man’s mind, and pull forth several of the faces of people that he had tortured and killed over the years: and although you only could call up a few of his most recent, you could tell that there had been many, many more. At first, the guard stood his ground against the apparitions, drawing one of his largest daggers and swinging wildly at them. The guard’s reluctance to flee was quite draining on you, partially due to the sheer effort involved in pulling images from a man’s own mind instead of your own, and also because the collar had once again flared to life. It was now a battle of wills between you, and the guard and collar . . . a battle you were slowly losing. However, fortune smiled on you: just as you felt yourself beginning to black out from the pain of the collar, the guard’s morale broke, and he turned and ran, screaming. Interestingly enough, the guard was so confused by the odd angles that the spirits of the dead had flown at him, that instead of running for the door, he ran blindly ahead, almost directly at you. Due to his fear, your illusions, and the overall darkness of the room, he didn’t even see the section of wall right next to you: at least not before he ran head-first into it. With a sickening crunch, the guard collapses in a heap on the floor, nearly at your feet.

Flaag

/ooc Ah . . . interesting. Thanks for the info . . . and for your reward, you shall receive . . . . A broken collar bone!!! ooc/



/ooc Heh. Just kidding, although your shoulder does hurt like a b*tch. ooc/

The guards lead you up several flights of stairs, finally stopping in a room full of benches, with a fair number of prisoners chained to them. Human prisoners. More than a few of them make cat calls upon seeing the guards drag you into the room, their disdain for elves even more evident than the guards. Although the guards did have other methods of expressing their hatred for you beyond mere shouts . . . but then, they weren’t particularly good at those methods, as you had seen from your time down in the Torture Chamber. Picking out an empty spot in an otherwise crowded bench, the guards plop you down next to a large metal ring, bolted into the heavy wood of the bench. With your hands chained and strapped together like they were, the guards were a bit mystified at first as to how to chain to the bench: looking at your “neighbors”, you could see that most of them had their manacles’ chains looped through metal rings, something that you’d love to see the guards accomplish with your manacles rather permanently sealed shut. The guards at Ironheart, nonetheless, were somewhat innovative: grabbing a length of chain, they quickly wrapped it around your hands, passed what was left through the ring, and then padlocked the end of it to the length of chain wrapped around your wrists. “Sit tight, elf, your match will be soon enough . . . in the meantime, feel free to strike up some conversation with your neighbors . . . I’m sure they’d be thrilled to hear about your homeland.” The second guard guffawed at this, adding, “Yeah, time them a bedtime story elves tell to their children, I’m sure they’d love to hear it.” Still cackling, both guards left, leaving you with several rather angry prisoners sitting chained next to you. Chained, however, didn’t mean harmless, as the two nearest to you began to ram their shoulders into you, jostling you about rather roughly. “Filthy elf.” One of them spat, striking your face with a rather impressive wad of spittle. “You aren’t gonna make it to the Pit alive.”

Hawk101

After attaching you to the end of the slave chain, one of the guards had the audacity to stand around and flap his gums at you with some rather feeble taunts. Grinning fiercely, you reply with a taunt of your own, jabbing your shovel at the guard’s head. With your hands still chained to your waist by rather short lengths of chain, the end of your shovel jerks to a stop a foot or so further away from the guard’s face than you had intended. This prompts a confident smirk from the guard, and you spontaneously decide to teach him a lesson. Side-stepping a foot or so closer to the guard, you pull your shovel back and swing, this time aiming quite a bit lower and smashing your shovel into the guard’s right knee. Again, the chains connecting your arms to your waist pull the force off the blow a bit, although this causes the guard to merely have his legs swept out from under him and probably a few ligaments in his knee to be torn; as opposed to have his whole leg sliced off at the knee. With a scream of pain the guard collapses, completely at your mercy, but before your can contemplate killing him two guards are there, each pointing crossbows at you. “Don’t even think it, pig.” One of the guards says, aiming his bolt right at your face. Satisfied that your point had been made, you allowed the guards to drag their friend away, who was still whimpering like a newborn. It also seemed like you wouldn’t have just the guards to entertain you for much longer: the guards were brining in more prisoners and chaining them into the line, handing out picks and more shovels. Most of these prisoners were weak humans, already broken by the strain of living in this dark place. There were a few with a bit of backbone left, such as the man being led over to the slave chain like a dog, with a chain attached to the collar around his neck. The collar, along with the leather muzzle wrapped around his head, was a sure sign that this human had been a powerful wizard of some kind, once (Fluffie). Now though, he was little more than a toy for the guards to play with, although his constant mumblings and the bruises forming on his face suggested that he wasn’t about to submit willingly like the rest of these dogs. He was chained to the line somewhere in front of you, separated from you by about three more humans, although these were little more than spineless sacks of flesh, waiting for Death to claim them. The last man that was added to your line appeared to be much the same, although there appeared to be some steel left within him, somewhere. Although his face appeared rather soft, much like the kind of faces nobles had, fat from easy living, it also showed signs of hardship and suffering . . . no doubt he had recently fallen from grace in some way (No Dachi). In any case, whatever steel he had in him was being carefully buried for now: he docilely allowed the guards to chain him to the front of the slave chain, and numbly accepted a pick from one of the guards. “Alright scum, time for you to get some exercise.” One of the guards nearby said, crackling a whip over your heads. With this signal, you and the rest of the prisoners of the slave train move out down the tunnels, several guards in tow to make sure none of you tried anything.

Bakan

You reply to the Doctor’s greeting with complaints about the conditions here, not that you’ll think he’d listen. And as expected, Dr. Krankov simply chuckled at your request. “Do you hear that, Eleanor?” The doctor asked, turning to look at the young woman hastily scribbling down everything he said. Upon hearing that the doctor was addressing her with a question, she looked nervously up from her paper, looking at Dr. Krankov with something very akin to fear, before nodding silently. The doctor seemed to have thought that was a rhetorical question, because a moment later he frowned at Eleanor and motioned for her to keep writing. “Test Subject #54 wants better living conditions! Well, I’m sorry #54, but if we did that, you’d be happy. And if you were happy, how could we possibly hope to invoke the dragon within you? As you well know, strong negative emotions are what provoke that side of you best, so until we can figure out a way to summon the dragon at will, we’ll simply have to settle for doing it this way. Upon being mentioned, you can feel “Harvey” stirring inside of you. It’s inevitable, you know . . . The dragon hissed, crawling around in the dark corners of your mind. Piece by piece, bit by bit, you are turning into me. Its not all bad . . . human flesh tastes quite sweet, once you get used to it . . . especially off of females. No doubt Harvey was referring to Eleanor, and even the mere mention of food was enough to send in your stomach to send out another complaint. With another forceful act of will, you shove “Harvey” back down into his hole, and notice that the doctor is beginning to speak again. “Speaking of which, I have something to show you today, #54 . . . I suspect it will accomplish quite well what we wish to see . . . but enough about the future. Please, sit.” The doctor says, motioning to the Chair. Sighing, you walk over to it and sit down, dreading whatever is about to happen, as it can’t possibly be good. From the way the “good” doctor was talking, it sounded like they were going to try to piss you off today, causing you to, usually accidentally, temporarily loose control over Harvey. With practiced efficiency, the Malevolent Seven quickly strap you into the chair: your arms to the chair’s arms, your legs to the thick legs of the chair, and a couple other straps across you chest and throat for good measure. Tightening the straps painfully against your skin, the Malevolent Seven seem convinced that your aren’t going anywhere, and step back, allowing Doctor Krankov to see you again. Once more, he smiles at you, and for a moment he is silent, before beginning to speak again. “You’ve been here quite a long while, Test Subject #54 . . . many, many years. And while time may seem to stand still here, it continues to pass quite rapidly in the outside world. People age, wither, and die . . . except for you, of course. Your wife and the rest of your family, however, were not so lucky. Perhaps I’ll regale you with tales of what happened to them, after you left to go gallivanting off after that dragon of yours, and mysteriously disappearing, leaving them all alone in the world, some other time. For now, I’ll simply say that your wife was grief-stricken when you left and never returned, and that this grief drove her to her deathbed . . . the final nail in the coffin, shall we say. With their mother dead, your children scattered throughout the kingdom. I regret to inform you that your son didn’t turn out so well . . . perhaps because he lacked a father and good role model while growing up. I’m sure it will please you to know that he did seem to have your skill with the blade. A pity he wasted that talent on back-alley brawls and other distasteful means of living. Still, he was a family man, bringing several more of your line into this world while you wasting away the years in here.” Dr. Krankov smiled viciously as you shook your head, aghast at what the doctor was telling you. He had to be lying, that little worm . . . you’d tear that tongue out of his lying mouth and shove it down his throat . . .
Perhaps seeing the anger beginning to build within you, the doctor smiled, and said, “Through great difficulty we were able to . . . procure . . . one of these children of your son to pay their dear, old, granddad a visit.” Turning to Arguile, in a harsh voice Dr. Krankov said, “Bring her in.” No doubt smiling viciously, Arguile said to his men, “Do it.” You hear one of the guards leave the room for a few minutes, and then return with someone in tow, someone who was clearly terrified, judging by the panicked gasps of breath they were taking. “It’s alright, my dear. I’m sure you’ve been through a rough night, but that’s all over now. Here, come meet your grandfather.” The doctor said, motioning whoever it was forward. A few moments pass as you hear the heavy breathing get closer, and then the source moves into your field of view: a young girl, scarcely seventeen, with straw blond hair and piercing green eyes. The dress that she was wearing was dirty and somewhat torn – no doubt she had had a rough night in a cell somewhere in this h*llhole. “As you can see, there is some resemblance between the two of you . . . notably around the eyes.” Dr. Krankov droned on, clearly enjoying this. Upon hearing him speak, the girl jumped a bit, and then turned to face the doctor. “D-doctor Krankov . . . this is the man you wanted me to meet? M-my grandfather? Why is he strapped into that chair?” Dr. Krankov smiled at your granddaughter, and although you doubt she realized it, you recognized it as his predatory smile. A sinking feeling entered your gut as he explained, “This man is indeed your grandfather, my dear, but unfortunately he is quite a dangerous man. We have to keep him restrained like that to prevent him from hurting anyone, including himself.” The girl swallowed, and nodded numbly, starting to turn back to face you before Dr. Krankov started talking again. “Actually, your grandfather is quite an interesting man. We’ve been trying to figure out what’s kept him so young looking, when naturally he should be quite old.” Again, your granddaughter nodded numbly, and replied, “Y-yes. I was wondering how such a young man could be my grandfather.” “Well, we were hoping you could help us with that, actually.” Dr. Krankov replied, making an ever so slight motion with his right hand. At this signal, the Malevolent Seven formed up, closing in from their scattered positions about the room to start surrounding your granddaughter. “W-what’s that?” Your granddaughter asked, clearly dreading the answer even as she asked the question. Dr. Krankov shrugged, then clenched his left hand into a tight fist and brought it back across your granddaughter’s face, sending her reeling into the arms of Arguile. “Die.” Dr. Krankov said simply, then turned and walked away for a few paces before turning back to watch. “NO!!” Your granddaughter screamed as the other members of the Malevolent Seven closed in, clubs in hand. I’ll be here when you want me. Harvey hissed as the clubs rose and fell. Just say please. He added as the guards broke up their tight circle a bit, allowing you an easier view of your granddaughter as she staggered from one guard to the next, guiding by the force of their blows. Pretty please. Harvey amended, as the guards spread out even more, now passing your granddaughter between them with hard shoves. With sugar on top. Harvey finished, as one member of the Malevolent Seven held the by-now unconscious form of your granddaughter up, while Luther brought his heavy crossbow up to his shoulder. He paused for a moment to look directly at you, smiled, and then pulled the trigger. Originally designed to bring down heavily armor knights, the heavy crossbow bolt had little trouble tearing through the cloth dress and soft flesh of your granddaughter. At such close range, the crossbow bolt also had enough momentum upon impact for the tip to go all the way through, emerging from her back by about half an inch. With dreadful finality, the guard that had been holding her up dragged her body over to you, and dropped her at your feet such that her head fell onto your lap. Oh well, looks like it’s a bit too late for her. Harvey observed, as you felt your blood starting to boil. “How did that feel freak?” Luther taunted, already starting to reload his crossbow. “But really . . . don’t worry about her too much . . . I’m sure she’ll find a good home in H*ll.”

/ooc See? I know Farscape too. :-p ooc/

Kal’rek

Dazed by impact of your head against the cell door, you simply curl up on the floor and wait for the guards to come drag you away. You can see them currently working on your “savior”, manacling his hands together before dragging him away to the Arena. A few moments later, you hear the door to your cell shriek open. “Wakey wakey.” The guard snarled. Reaching down, he grabs the collar of your tunic, and hauls you up onto your feet that way. You can then see it’s the same guard who has been mistreating you all along. He smiles at you, then swings you around and throws you out of the cell, causing you to land rather awkwardly and painfully on the hard floor (you were getting awfully sick of being thrown around and slammed into things, but for now your God had told you to hold back on your retribution, and so you would . . . for now). “On your feet, elf! You wanted to go to the Arena, so to the Arena you go!” The guard barks, as two other guards roughly drag you back up onto your feet. Once back on your feet, the two guards shove you in front of them, and follow you out of the Torture Chamber, while the first guard leads after shutting your cell door again. As he leaves, the guard grabs a torch off of the wall, using it to light your way through the dark corridors of the Third Floor. Eventually, the four of you make you way up to the Arena section, and the guards direct you into some sort of waiting room. In this room are a number of long benches, with all sorts of prisoners chained to them, all of them likely waiting for their chance to be sent in the Arena, or judging by the looks of some of them, having just come from there. Seeing an empty spot right next to your new “friend”, the guards prod you over to the seat right next to him, seat apparently being the guard’s operative word for the metal rings bolted into the benches at regular lengths. From the looks of it, the guards secured most of the prisoners by sitting them down over the rings, uncuffing one of their manacles, passing it through the ring, and then reattaching it to their wrist. The guards attempted to do the same thing with you, although they quickly discovered that your apparently custom-fit manacles didn’t have a long enough chain to allow that. Exasperated, one of the guards puts all the blame on you, back-handing you and calling you the ever-familiar moniker “filthy elf b*tch”. The other two guards are a bit more constructive, leaving to return a minute later with a set of regular manacles. It then takes them only a minute to switch the manacles and have you chained to the bench like the other prisoners, finally leaving you in relative peace. There are several other prisoners nearby, other than your “savior” chained right next to you, but all of these are human, and most of them are looking at both of you with a look of pure hatred.

/occ Feel free to chat it up with Zappa, or attempt to communicate with one of the other nearby prisoners, while I finish up the current Arena match of Dunin vs. The Animal. Shouldn’t take long. ooc/

Anarcharnate

Feeling quite giddy at your sudden change of fortune, you wait a few heartbeats to be sure that the guards are far away, and then push open the door to your cell. It squeaks open, and you are about to rush out when you hear the voice of the world commanding you to pray. You attempt to reason with the Voice for a few moments, before finally agreeing and hurriedly praying your thankfulness for this chance to escape. Finally, the Voice releases you, and you hurry out into the corridor. Like your cell, the corridor is pitch black without the torch light of the guards. However, here and there you can see points of light: guard checkpoints, or patrols of guards marching through the corridors, most on some errand. One of those could quite possibly be your group coming back with Andre, and so you hurry away from your cell, blindly picking a direction. You stumble along in the pitch black for awhile, the mumbling and murmurings of numerous prisoners in their own cells along the walls surrounding you. Finally, you reach a somewhat quieter spot, and stumble down a side path. The guards evidently hadn’t used these cells to house prisoners as yet, as the metal of the cell bars felt quite new, and you didn’t hear anyone crying themselves to sleep in this corridor. Even better, all of the cell doors were unlocked, allowing you to slip into one of the cells without fear of discovery or being locked in, and continue your prayer of thankfulness. You slip into one of the cells, and to your horror, almost give yourself away with a painful yelp as you stub your toe against a loose rock lying on the floor. Hobbling over to the middle of the cell, you close the door behind you, and go through a full prayer session, before finally feeling as if you had satisfied the world’s demand for thanksgiving. Now ,pick up the rock. You heard the Voice say. And use it to free yourself, both body and voice.

No Dachi

As the guards lead you from the Second Floor down to the Third, and from there, even deeper into the Mines, you reflect on what you had been taught so long ago. You consider the strengths of water over steel, and after your musings, you realize two things: one, you were pretty d*mn thirsty () , and two, you were at the entrance to the Mines already. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem likely that you were going to get any water, as one of the guards shoved you into a prisoner line already nearly full. Quickly removing your manacles, they then attached a new set: this one part of the slave chain that all the other prisoners were chained to. It appeared that you were the last one to be added, as you were at the head of the line. As the guards shoved a pick into your hands, you throw a look over your shoulder, attempting to see who you would be working with today. The man immediately behind you looked like a cross between a punching bag and “some sick mind's favorite fetish-puppet” (Fluffie). Behind him in the line were several broken men, people who had tested their mettle against Ironheart and broke, and finally bringing up the end of the line, a tall powerful orc that appeared to be made out of steel (Hawk101). “Alright scum, time for you to get some exercise.” One of the guards nearby said, crackling a whip over your heads. With this signal, you and the rest of the prisoners of the slave train move out down the tunnels, several guards in tow to make sure none of you tried anything.

Fluffie

As the guards lead you down into the mines, you wonder if they enjoyed music. As such, you started singing, although with the muzzle on all that came out was really a bunch of mumbles. “Quiet!!” One of the guards grunted, introducing your right kidney to the butt of his club. Being the stubborn f00k that you are, however, you try again, this time in a different key. This was apparently the wrong thing to do, as the guards evidently really did not like your songs anymore than olbaid did. In fact, your singing ended up earning you a beating, right there in the middle of the corridor. As usual, the beating started with several guards bashing your face and torso with their clubs, and ended up with you on the floor, all the guards standing around you and kicking you like you were some kind of reccos ball from that crazy place htrae. “Enough.” The leader of the group said, dragging your battered body back up onto its feet. “If we hurt him too much more he won’t be able to dig.” Your entire body ached, and you could feel your right eye swelling shut, but you came to realize that you had achieved your objective: you were definitely good and aggressive now! The guards lead you down into the Mines entrance without further incident, and quickly chain you into a line with a bunch of other humans and an orc playing caboose (Hawk101). With you second in line, the guards go and get one last person to be first, who rather calmly lets them chain him up in front and shove a pick in his hands (No Dachi). “Alright scum, time for you to get some exercise.” One of the guards nearby said, crackling a whip over your heads. With this signal, you and the rest of the prisoners of the slave train move out down the tunnels, several guards in tow to make sure none of you tried anything.

Zappa

You continue to pretend to be dazed as the guards led you out of the Torture Chamber, and up several flights of stairs until you finally come to the Arena. Dragging you into a room full of benches with prisoners chained to them, they shove you down onto a bench at random, and uncuff the manacle around your right wrist. They then pass that through a nearby metal ring that was bolted into the bench, and then reattached it you for wrist, effectively hold you in place. The guards then leave, evidently confident that you won’t somehow escape from where you were now until they came to get you for your match. You notice that there are several human prisoners nearby, also chained to the same bench as you, and all of them are throwing you dirty looks. The one closest to you growls, “filthy elf”, before spitting on you. “If it wasn’t for your kind, the king would still be in control around here, and none of us would be in here!” Several of the nearby humans nod in agreement, and for once you’re glad that at the very least, Ironheart didn’t discriminate when it came to securing their prisoners. Suddenly, the guards return, and you see that they have the she-elf that you had “saved”, after a fashion. They chain her to the same bench that you are sitting on, right next to you in fact, although there is a momentary confusion when they realize that her manacles don’t have a long enough chain to pass through the ring. Naturally, the guards blame it on her, back-handing her across the face, before going and getting a new set of manacles, which they use to chain her to the bench beside you.

/ooc Feel free to argue with the human prisoners, or talk to Kal’rek. You’ll be going into the Arena shortly, once Dunin Hemm is done with the Animal . . . or the Animal is done with him. ooc/


Hewitt

You can’t really see a way out of this terrible, horrifying situation, until you remember the flame shield. If that couldn’t get you out of this situation, nothing could. Settling back onto the table, you momentarily relax, looking inward and connecting with the dragon deep within you. You hear, as if from far away, one of the guards holding you down say, “I think she fainted sir.” The good doctor doesn’t have a chance to respond, as suddenly a flash of flame forms around you. Screaming in pain, all six of the guards release you and jump back, their hands and faces already blistering from the intense heat. The chains holding you down to the table also feel the heat, starting to soften and melt. The small amount of molten metal running down over your arms and legs didn’t do much to better your mood, although it was only a small part of the montage of pain as you struggled to free yourself from your weakened bonds. The chains, however, were only made out of untreated iron, instead of hardened steel, and so between the heat and the incredible stress being put on them, suddenly broke, leaving you free, free at last. Your first act of freedom was to plant both of your feet into the jaw of a shocked Dr. Vladimir, sending both him and his d*mned saw flying away from the table. Slipping off of the table, your next action was to deal with guards, who had by now had somewhat recovered and were once again closing in on you in an attempt to bring you back under control. You weren’t about to be so easy for them to beat half to death a second time, and with a large number of sharp implements close at hand, make short work of all the guards. Looking around the room, you can see that Dr. Vladimir was no where to be found: evidently, he had crept away like the animal he was while you dealt with the guards. Unfortunately, this was bad news for you: no doubt the doctor would return with quite a good number of guards to try to recapture you again. Before that, however, you needed to buy some time to get this stupid muzzle off. Putting the last fatally wounded guard out of his misery, you pile a bunch of shelves in front of the door that presumably led out into the rest of the labs, instead of your cell, and go back to the shelves full of tools. You quickly find a narrow blade, and use it to pick the lock on your muzzle. After what seems like ages, the muzzle’s lock finally pops open, and you tear it free and throw it across the room. At the clatter of the muzzle against the wall, you hear a terrified yelp, and a woman in a rather skimpy dress jumps out of the shadows, her hands held above her head. “I-I . . . t-took n-notes f-f-for the d-doctor, b-b-b-but I’m a prisoner too!!! I-I’m sorry, please d-don’t kill me!!” Evidently, this woman was busy writing down whatever the doctor was saying while he was contemplating cutting you open like a fish. Although you suppose she could have been a prisoner, and had been simply forced to do it, something didn’t quite seem right with that story. Then you realized what wasn’t fitting: her cheeks were too full, and whatever sores and scars she had had while in prison, had started to fade. A prisoner allright, and yet not a prisoner at the same time . . . collaborator.
__________________
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You can be silent as well.
Quote:
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like you in your threads after about a week



ZING!
I love you Phang.

Last edited by Inspectre; 3 Mar 2005 at 01:46.
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Unread 1 Mar 2005, 21:15   #50
Flaag
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Re: Escape from Ironheart

Quote:
Originally Posted by Inspectre
Flaag

/ooc Ah . . . interesting. Thanks for the info . . . and for your reward, you shall receive . . . . A broken collar bone!!! ooc/



/ooc Heh. Just kidding, although your shoulder does hurt like a b*tch. ooc/

The guards lead you up several flights of stairs, finally stopping in a room full of benches, with a fair number of prisoners chained to them. Human prisoners. More than a few of them make cat calls upon seeing the guards drag you into the room, their disdain for elves even more evident than the guards. Although the guards did have other methods of expressing their hatred for you beyond mere shouts . . . but then, they weren’t particularly good at those methods, as you had seen from your time down in the Torture Chamber. Picking out an empty spot in an otherwise crowded bench, the guards plop you down next to a large metal ring, bolted into the heavy wood of the bench. With your hands chained and strapped together like they were, the guards were a bit mystified at first as to how to chain to the bench: looking at your “neighbors”, you could see that most of them had their manacles’ chains looped through metal rings, something that you’d love to see the guards accomplish with your manacles rather permanently sealed shut. The guards at Ironheart, nonetheless, were somewhat innovative: grabbing a length of chain, they quickly wrapped it around your hands, passed what was left through the ring, and then padlocked the end of it to the length of chain wrapped around your wrists. “Sit tight, elf, your match will be soon enough . . . in the meantime, feel free to strike up some conversation with your neighbors . . . I’m sure they’d be thrilled to hear about your homeland.” The second guard guffawed at this, adding, “Yeah, time them a bedtime story elves tell to their children, I’m sure they’d love to hear it.” Still cackling, both guards left, leaving you with several rather angry prisoners sitting chained next to you. Chained, however, didn’t mean harmless, as the two nearest to you began to ram their shoulders into you, jostling you about rather roughly. “Filthy elf.” One of them spat, striking your face with a rather impressive wad of spittle. “You aren’t gonna make it to the Pit alive.”
"Whats the matter, are you so afraid of being made a fool of infront of a audience that you want to kill me before we get into the arena?" Forsten retorted, sending some rather phelgmy spittle back to him, "anyway, you're hardly in a position to fight, and for that matter, none of us are... yet."

/ooc/ by the way, which shoulder?/ooc/
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