"Own?" Assallya reiterated.
She was caught between indignation and outright fear but the elven courtesan had engaged with brigands and ruffians in the past; She knew that to demonstrate fear was an invitation to further oppression. She was still standing against the wall they'd been forced up against while their manacles were removed and she noted how he had placed himself in such a way that he could interpose himself between her and the bars if he so wished. Was that intentional? She rather imagined, given his statement, that was indeed the case.
"Think you," she answered his challenge with her blue eyes frozen over to hardness, "that I would be sent to such an fortress if I were harmless? Harken oaf, and harken well lest I make of you a footstool for my pleasure. I would not waste my magics on gross demonstration when I could spare them for attaining freedom once more but do not task me. Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards for they are subtle and quick to anger."
Yes, she said, a gamble but not one of ill consideration. It was a simple ploy. A great wizard bereft of her spellbook would only be able to cast so many spells and not replenish them. Such a woman would be loathe to waste them. He need not know that she was no wizard, that the magic was in her blood, and further he did not need know that her repertoire was lacking.
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What the hey? I spend three days freaking out without internet, worried about how much I was missing... and I return to find? I don't know if I should be relieved or upset. *engages in grim chuckling*
At least I got my Tolkien quote in :)
At least I got my Tolkien quote in :)
Carlos was staring at a long crease of blood on one bicep. He looked up when addressed, almost as if he had forgotten where he was. It was as if he wondering why it didn't hurt more. Looking over at his newfound partner in crime he suddenly realized where he was and what he should be doing. In truth he was having a hard time thinking. Generally, he just followed the woman, and shot at anything that moved with his shotgun. He missed more often then hit but it kept them under cover and she was killing more than enough for the both of them.
"Ah-" he said, pausing before continuing, before finding his words, "It's the real shit man."
Withdrawing the last of his tear gas grenades he held one in each hand and boggled as he peered at the oncoming roadblock rushing towards them, growing larger by the moment. Fumbling for his seat belt, he managed to click it in just in the nick of time. The last thing he wanted to do was to experience a windshield ejection. He'd seen that before and it had looked painful.
"Ah-" he said, pausing before continuing, before finding his words, "It's the real shit man."
Withdrawing the last of his tear gas grenades he held one in each hand and boggled as he peered at the oncoming roadblock rushing towards them, growing larger by the moment. Fumbling for his seat belt, he managed to click it in just in the nick of time. The last thing he wanted to do was to experience a windshield ejection. He'd seen that before and it had looked painful.
You know. I have no idea. I was waiting on Solemn but she hasn't posted in quite some time.
This week has been somewhat strange. I've been running about every day. Usually what's hardest for me is Wednesday night through Thursday night. This week it's been the first time I got to really get online!
This week has been somewhat strange. I've been running about every day. Usually what's hardest for me is Wednesday night through Thursday night. This week it's been the first time I got to really get online!
Assallya carefully and awkwardly shuffled her bare feet towards the cell she was being led to, doing her best to keep pace with the much larger man she had been bonded to. His stride was longer than hers, more commanding and she was having trouble matching it. What was worse is that he seemed not to particularly care if he pulled her off stride with his greater mass. The constant concentration needed to make sure she didn't fall also meant she wasn't paying as much attention to her surroundings as she promised herself.
Her new companion was a great deal taller than herself, and judging from earlier, had a fair degree of muscle hidden beneath that coarse burlap sack that passed for clothing. It had her thinking he certainly wasn't a magician, priest or other academic. She rather imagined he was some sort of laborer or perhaps a warrior. It would be just her luck to be saddled with a common wood cutter caught poaching the king's forests.
About the worst part of all this, at least so far, was the prison clothing. Assallya peered down at the misshapen, artless, smock that she wore. It fit her poorly, her entire figure disappearing inside the voluminous expanse meant for a man at least twice as large as her and not even a belt to cinch it in at the waist. She imagined that was to avoid the prisoners using the rope as impromptu garrotes or other weapons but it wasn't in the slightest bit flattering. She rather imagined the lack of footwear was a measure to reduce expense. The cost of cobbling an entire prison would likely be prohibitive.
Her new companion was a great deal taller than herself, and judging from earlier, had a fair degree of muscle hidden beneath that coarse burlap sack that passed for clothing. It had her thinking he certainly wasn't a magician, priest or other academic. She rather imagined he was some sort of laborer or perhaps a warrior. It would be just her luck to be saddled with a common wood cutter caught poaching the king's forests.
About the worst part of all this, at least so far, was the prison clothing. Assallya peered down at the misshapen, artless, smock that she wore. It fit her poorly, her entire figure disappearing inside the voluminous expanse meant for a man at least twice as large as her and not even a belt to cinch it in at the waist. She imagined that was to avoid the prisoners using the rope as impromptu garrotes or other weapons but it wasn't in the slightest bit flattering. She rather imagined the lack of footwear was a measure to reduce expense. The cost of cobbling an entire prison would likely be prohibitive.
Question: What is in the cells? I'm assuming no bunks if we're chained at the ankle. I'm guessing plain wooden walls, a bucket and not much else?
Well, upon reading through all the material I would concede to wanting to play an elven archer. I haven't done anything combative in a while. My regular mainstay are magicians of different ilks.
"If I don't make it homes," Carlos said, trying to keep his voice hard, "You raise a glass to Carlos yo?"
Carlos figured he was going to die here but dying here was better than the long slow death inside the prison. At least, that was what he was telling himself. Pulling the pin with his teeth so he could keep his finger on the shotgun trigger Carlos lobbed the canister. At first it hissed and sizzled. Only when it was in the air, tumbling end over end, did it begin to spew a thick white smoke. Then he did the same again. The grenades bounced and skittered beneath the police cars and began to surround the guards in their smoky embrace.
Finally, he shifted his shotgun to the hand that once held the canisters and then drew his pistol, holding it in one hand, sideways, and peered down the sights as he pulled the trigger. The Vice-9's slide slammed back and forth, resetting the spring and loading the next bullet into the breach on each journey.
Carlos figured he was going to die here but dying here was better than the long slow death inside the prison. At least, that was what he was telling himself. Pulling the pin with his teeth so he could keep his finger on the shotgun trigger Carlos lobbed the canister. At first it hissed and sizzled. Only when it was in the air, tumbling end over end, did it begin to spew a thick white smoke. Then he did the same again. The grenades bounced and skittered beneath the police cars and began to surround the guards in their smoky embrace.
Finally, he shifted his shotgun to the hand that once held the canisters and then drew his pistol, holding it in one hand, sideways, and peered down the sights as he pulled the trigger. The Vice-9's slide slammed back and forth, resetting the spring and loading the next bullet into the breach on each journey.
Hmmm.... I hadn't considered players making checking against my Bluff skill. I more meant hiding the fear from the NPC prisoner sorts. Most of my players generally just decided if they notice or not no matter what they rolled :) Mind you, I think I was the only one in our group that casually walked into a trap because I deemed my character wouldn't know about it. They thought I was crazy. Clearly our players here are better than those at my old table.
As for TN, that's used in several other systems. It refers to "Target Number" and yes, is identical to "Difficulty Class". I often use terms interchangeably from other systems. Sorry about that.
As for TN, that's used in several other systems. It refers to "Target Number" and yes, is identical to "Difficulty Class". I often use terms interchangeably from other systems. Sorry about that.
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.
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.
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