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Post by Batmanwayne on Jul 15, 2015 21:13:55 GMT -8
Gears, Grime, and Gunslingers Get steamed
If the word ‘grime’ described the city, then the phrase ‘forgotten and spat upon’ was probably the most fitting for its prison. Deep below the House of Justice, a sprawling maze of cells, cages, guard rooms, and collapsed hallways made up Grime’s chief jail. Scattered, guttering candles and blazing torches were set up haphazardly throughout, providing just enough light to make out other people and objects as flickering, sinister shadows. The clank and clink of metal chains, slamming of doors, and heavy footfalls of steel-toed boots echoed through the winding, unevenly made passageways, the sounds rebounding over and over to create a vague, indiscernible din that reverberated in the background without ceasing. The smell was the only thing that hadn’t changed, much: rather than the aroma of smog and open gutters, the overpowering stench of decomposing corpses and raw fear permeated the atmosphere of the prison, dulling minds and steadily chafing away at appetites.
To say the place was dirty and slightly hazardous was an understatement of criminal proportions.
Fortunately, one of the cells closest to the surface had been recently vacated, so the new batch of prisoners had the advantage of a couple torches lighting their particular hallway, granting them enough light to see each other by fairly well, and make out many details of their persons. Besides that, though, all the prisoners had to wake up to were headaches, prison clothes, no food, and none of their equipment at all. They’d been stripped completely clean and outfitted in scratchy, smelly, dirty rags that were scarcely deserving of the title ‘tunics’. On the bright side, at least they weren’t completely bare.
However, the prisoners found themselves divided. In one large cell, on one side of the hallway, a couple of very different figures were chained up and surrounded by various arcane runes. Rava Khator was bound from neck to toe in heavy iron chains, and every inch of floor and wall within several feet of her was heavily etched with anti-magic runes. Despite her hopeless situation, the tiefling stood tall and proud (partly because the chains around her forced her into that position), resolute in the face of danger as always. Near where she was chained, Céili Evett found herself in a similar predicament. However, the runs around her somehow prevented her from changing shape, leaving her trapped in her natural appearance for the foreseeable future.
In the other cell, all of the other prisoners had been left to sort themselves out. Jebediah Harper, Wilhelm Von Brock, and Snorbol Ruddins awoke in a pile off to one side. Despite this discomfort (not to mention the aforementioned headache thanks to being stunned by a variety of different methods), they were unchained, and evidently allowed to roam the decrepit cell.
Escape was unthinkable, but perhaps a little conversation would help to pass the time...
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