The sunlight through the open doorway of the prison carriage was blinding after the long ride. The golden rays stung the blond woman's azure eyes and she raised one slender hand to futilely ward away what was nothing more than a square of brilliant white light. A gloved hand, thick of wrist, darted out, grasped the wrist of her warding arm and pulled her ungently from the wagon and she blinked rapidly, long heavily mascaraed eyes desperately attempting to adjust to the light. The meaty hand lashed out again, grasping her by the shoulder, cupping it easily in one hand and herded her out of the wagon like so much chattel.

Assallya Kressair was a small thing, with almond shaped eyes and tapered ears that were lost beneath a tumultuous array of golden tresses and the stricken expression on her face when her eyes adjusted to the scene before her spoke more than volumes. She was a thing accustomed to the finer aspects of living and the pervading filth before her was an affront to her keen senses. All this the elf woman took in while the guard unshackled her ankle.

This was to be her fate? Assallya felt like railing at the gods. Why had the lord not simply ruled for indentured servitude? She could have spend a few decades in his service and been on her merry way. This place looked as if it would grind one down, drain the soul and leave one a sundered relic of what he or she was.

When it came her time to shed her clothes, her fine ebony silks that floated around her pale milk white flesh like a midnight mist she momentarily balked but a stern glare and implied threat of a back handed blow hastened her acceptance of the circumstances and hardened her resolve. After all, she reminded herself, it was not that she was ashamed of her body or displaying it publicly. It was a matter of receiving nothing in reward for it. Her countenance, her small yet curvaceous figure, was her bread and her butter. No matter how bad things became a pretty face could always find coin dancing atop tables. Once she reminded herself that the payment in this instance was simply to avoid being struck or otherwise punished she found it much easier to resolve her hesitation.

Furthermore, she realized as she disrobed and cast the expensive silken raiment to the earth, she needed to look strong. Peering about about at several jeering inmates she knew that looking weak before these predators would only draw them to her in droves. She'd spent enough time amongst thieves, harlots and the detritus of society to know that they were carrion feeders. Life was going to be hard enough without encouraging such villains.

Assuming a regal demeanor, haughty and aloof, she strode across the open expanse towards the prison, only afterwards realizing that she probably shouldn't have been preoccupied with such trivial matters and that she should have been examining the landscape in case she somehow managed to escape. For all she knew she might never see the yard. Who knew what manner of rules the warden had concocted for his establishment.

[Hider=OOC] Perception check for other inmates to realize just how terrified Assallya really is would be a TN 17 if I have my Pathfinder right [/hider]