Immersive Ink

waysoftheearth wrote:
Olaf leads the way into the long, stone chamber by the bobbling light of Ulric's lantern fire. As the rest of the company bring up additional torches, the full extent of the grim place is revealed. It looks to be fewer than dozen paces across, and perhaps three dozen paces long. The bleak walls are roughly hewn from wet, crumbling rock, and have suffered numerous minor falls.

Along the left had wall a series of cramped cell gates are set deeply into the damp stone. Each is a hash of four vertical and five horizontal iron bars thick with rust and corruption but impossibly stout none the less. Each is held fast by a formidable looking iron lock-box.

The right hand side of the chamber is crowded by a jumble of heinous implements of torment -- a blasted crucible, a rotting stretching rack, a rusted iron maiden, a long quenched hearth surrounded by macabre tongs, brands and other irons, a deep quenched trough with straps to hold a Man under, a evil looking chair of iron with thick straps to hold an Man fast no matter his great strength, and all this surrounded by a grisly array of chains and manacles which hang upon the walls and from the ceiling.

It is a wretched place indeed.

At the far end of the chamber some half dozen steps lead up to a closed, stout wooden door...

waysoftheearth wrote:
Being first into the grim chamber and to begin checking the cells for occupants, Olaf is first to discover that there is but one prisoner. A grubby Man lays supine in the second last of the cells. Only gradually does he become aware of you...

tombowings wrote:
"Oh, by the Gods Almighty, such a light beckons my forth. My spirit and flesh have hung by a thread and now your mercy has delivered by to grace."

The man lies on the ground, clouting his bloody arm and mumbling to an invisible force--driving mad by darkness and depravity. He is clad in but grubby trousers and a grimy, sanguine stained shirt.

"Wait. What demon is this who comes to take me away. I accept whatever payment in exchange for life and freedom. Pelenwin I call myself. The Brave others call me. Take from my what you will; free my from my isolation and torture. I beg you."

The man seems to be more insane that he first appeared. Apparently many days without food and water have take a toll on his well being. He may, however, still have the will to live.

Valandil wrote:
When Andaros sees the prisoner, he rushes toward the cell, and starts to speak. His voice changes suddenly, and his foreign accent is almost unnoticeable, for some reason. He points his mace towards the face of the man.

"A man deprived of his freedom is something I can't stand ...even a bad but proud death is better than a prison cell! What are your sins, Pelenwin, why are you here? Who are your captors? Answer!"

Malibu wrote:
"Let him have some water, lad." Thorgrim whispers from the entrance, keeping a wary eye on the hallway outside.

mushgnome wrote:
Michele passes his water skin through the bars to the prisoner and examines the cell door to see if it might be pried open.

waysoftheearth wrote:
Pelenwin thankfully grasps the offered flask and drinks deeply.

As he does, Michele notes that the iron bars are nearer two inches thick than one, staunchly anchored in the stone and further fused to the rock by aeons of rust and verdigris. The swinging iron gate is held on a pair of wrist thick hinges, themselves wrought as a part of the gate itself. It is held shut by a solid iron lock box six inches square and two inches iron deep that is a part of the gate itself, and in which there is a largish key hole.

If one had the key to hand the gate could be opened most simply. Without the key... well... a Man might just as easily gnaw through the bars with his teeth.

heartless wrote:
"This poor man needs our help", says Padrig. He will give the prisoner in the cell also some rations to eat.
"What is your name good man? Do you know where the key to this cell is? How did you come to be here? Sorry for so many questions please take a minute", smiles Padrig .

tombowings wrote:
The prisoner looks at Padrig: "Pelenwin. My name is Pelenwin."

The man named Pelenwin accepts the water and victuals without another word. No mention of thanks or any of the usual niceties. A man in such condition could never be expect such kindnesses. His mind has only one track--the lane of survival.

After finishing his the scraps of dried meet and rubbery leek, Pelenwin looks to the others standing around him. "How wrong I was to think you all being of fire and shadow. You and blessed angels in my eyes. At least compared to other company I keep. Such vile bandits did beseech me in the dark and the wet. The necks of my fellows were not so lucky as mine--or not so cured, for they suffered little. Here they brought me, those wicked men, tainted by the depravity and illness. Not only did men leap upon my friends, but woman too. These creatures where not the fair maidens of this region, but soiled with grime and treachery."

Pelenwin takes a moment to breathe deeply after his long speech.

"The leader of their gang, this fellow, Saxon they call him, lead me to this fortification. On my way, alone the stones--cold and shaven--did I pass a troop of ogres, allies of my less than merciful patron. To them I was traded and have been the treated a so good a guest as a roach or rat. By one called Deggarhund was a picked and prodded. My only fate before you, my rescuers stumbled upon my broken body, was to be the grand and honored dinner of these beasts. The meat of a stew or spit roasted like a swine.

"My mail and mace they took and use my holy scripture to wipe their dung. I must recover these effects before I take my leave. I ask for your assistance then to you I pledge my heart."

heartless wrote:
"It be your luck we came along and found you. We may need your help to get out of here place yet, so hang on Pelenwin", says Padrig.
"Let us get this poor fellow out of this cell, any ideas...?", asks Padrig.