It's a Thief's Life For Me! (For Bluedragon1200)

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Sjöfn, Sep 9, 2014.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. "Seven hells, it is a busy night," a scrawny, ginger-bearded guard complained. He and one other guard, a portly man with a bald head, half-dragged a man down a dank wooden hallway that smelled vaguely of old piss. Two lit torches were on the walls, casting flickering shadows over the dark stone and wood. There were no windows in the hallway and thus no natural light, or vent for fresh air.

    Each gray-suited guard held an arm of the man, who sported a mane of tangled black hair that covered the upper portion of his face. The black haired drunk groaned and muttered something about going too fast. His complaint fell on deaf ears.

    "Yeah," the bald guard agreed, "all the scum are comin' through now, aren't they? I think we only have one more cell open," he scowled. "Move your feet!" He added with a snap, yanking on the drunks arm.

    "Easy!" The drunk snapped, stumbling and straightening for a moment to glare at the bald man. He had startling green eyes, and they were sharp and angry for a moment before his face when slack and his eyes crossed. He stumbled again and the room kept spinning with shadows. The smell was hardly a bother but he would have appreciated it if the stones would stop dancing around his feet. He closed his eyes and felt the world heave. Had one of the dancing stones leapt up and hit him in the temple, or was that throbbing natural?

    "Full of drunken idiots," the ginger-beard grumbled. "Look at us, big, scary watchmen. Guarding a house full of slobbering fools!" He let out a huff as they came to stop before a sightly moist iron gate. One side of the hallway was lined with stone instead of wood, and dotted with iron gates. Behind some gates there were the sounds of snores, shouts of injustice, and one cell, two away from the guards, held a man muttering about slimy unicorns that wanted his teeth.

    The scrawny guard released the drunks arm and the drunk lurched into the side of the plump guard. "Watch it!" the man belched, and the drunk grimaced and tried to peel himself off the man and gain some sort of proud footing. He slouched awkwardly, face screwed up with an attempt at focus. His head throbbed, but at least the fat man was something soft to fall into.

    "Damn, he's gone. I bet he chokes on his own vomit tonight," Ginger-Beard snorted, loudly clanking keys together as he unlocked the gate. The sound of metal on metal pierced the green-eyed drunks ears and the throbbing in his temple became a slamming.

    "I....will not," Coren said loudly, though his accent, deep voice, and slur made the words sound like 'owl pellet.'

    "Uh huh. Get in there, Farsian slob," the fat guard said, shoving Coren unceremoniously into the stone cell. Coren sucked in a breath through his teeth, his feet disconnected from his brain. He stumbled and collapsed onto the stone with a yelp. Distantly, he heard the shriek of metal as the cell door closed, but it was dimly registered through the throbbing of his head and elbow.

    "Ouch," he grumbled, rubbing his elbow and rolling to his back. He laid there a while, trying to collect his thoughts. He had not expected to stay in a jail cell for the night. He wondered if people in this town chopped thieves hands off for first attempt at theft or second. He hoped it was second. He flexed both of his hands and sat up, rubbing his temples. It was dark inside the cell. Only some of the flickering shades of orange made it through the bars of his door.

    "We will have to start double stacking the cells," was the last thing he heard from a guard's mouth, before he heard their footsteps echoing down the hall.

    "But my teeth!" the crazy inmate shouted down the hall. Coren sighed and cracked his neck as he examined his cell. He had hoped that cutting a purse from a fellow drunk would earn him a room and a few more drinks. Instead, he got a free room that smelled like piss, a crazy neighbor, and a wooden plank for a bed. He drew to his feet shakily and slowly cross the small cell to examine the wooden bed. There was no padding or pillow, but he was fine with that. He already was wondering what had happened on this wood. A pillow or pad would be ominous and deadly, for sure.

    His bright eyes looked down at his stained and ragged clothing. His brown wool pants were ragged around his feet because they were too long. His leather shoes were peeled at the soles. His gray tunic was ill-fitting in the shoulders, far too narrow for his broad shoulders. He sighed. He was such a mess, he didn't care what had happened on that wooden plank. It was better than the floor. He eased to sit down on the bed, and then laid down. His hands went back to his face, and he pressed his palms to his eyeballs until colors burst behind them.

    It was going to be a long night.
    #1 Sjöfn, Sep 9, 2014
    Last edited: Sep 21, 2014
  2. Morning couldn’t be more than an hour away as the jailers drug Mara through the dank halls. For the moment she had given up struggling. The torch light cast a yellow sheen to her snow white hair, which had long since fallen loose from its ponytail and cascaded around her narrow face. A faint trickle of blood fell from her parched lips.

    “Hey, Tubby, pick up the pace. My right arm’s going to be an inch longer, the way Red’s pulling at it.” She mocked to her captors.

    The portly jailer gave an angry yank forcing an audible yelp to echo through cells.

    “What do you think, should we put her with crazy in cell 3 or puke for brains over in 8?” The larger man asked.

    “Put her with me.” A prisoner called out. “I like exotic ladies, even if they have pointy ears.”

    “I’ll tear you to ribbons, you son of an ass!” Mara shouted back. A few of the prisoners woke briefly from the rest, only to turn over with a groan. Many of them did not respond.

    “Like to see you try, dirty drow.” He said, leaning against the iron bars.

    Mara spit in his direction but the bloodied saliva fell onto the portly jailer.

    “That does it!” He cried as he stopped walking and pushed Mara onto the floor. Before she could jump up, he swiftly kicked her in the ribs. Her body quickly contracted as she tried to guard herself from future attacks.

    “Easy, Dan. She’ll get her round of pay back before our next shift.” The man with the red beard smiled with malice.

    He roughly pulled Mara to her feet and pushed her forward. He unlocked a nearby cell, the screeching metal reverberating off the stones.

    “Sleep well. Personally I don’t recommend sleep.” He whispered into her ear before shoving her in and closing the door behind her.

    Dark hair framed the face of her roommate. In the darkness, she wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. Her sharp yellow eyes scanned the cell as her hands went to her empty belt. She desperately longed for the familiar feel of the leather of her daggers; She wasn’t much of a fist fighter. Dressed in men’s clothing and with poor light he might not notice her gender.

    She brought her knees to her chest and pushed herself into the corner. Without natural light, there was no way to tell time, only guess. Her gaze remained on her cell mate, hoping he was asleep and would remain so.
    #2 bluedragon1200, Sep 10, 2014
    Last edited: Sep 10, 2014
    • Like Like x 1
  3. As Coren lay on the flat board, his mind began to wander away from the throbbing in his temple. It faded to a dim tapping, and his eyelids grew heavy. He let out a deep breath and let the sounds of the jail fade away. Sleep was a blissful escape, from the noise, the smell, the pain in his head... The blissful respite was short-lived, as a shrieking metal door pierced into the darkness of his mind. He sucked in a breath and his lips formed a thin line. He lay there, prone as a corpse, and listened to one guard whisper something. He heard feet skitter into his cell. So he was unlucky enough to get a cell mate, huh? Pity for them, there was only one wooden pallet and it was his to claim. He hoped his cell mate wasn't a portly, gruff person who would demand the bed. His headache had faded, but he was tired and not in the mood for a fight. He could hardly remember the last time he had eaten, and was weaker than his best.

    He heard the gate scream shut and cleared his throat. That metal badly needed some oil. His teeth ached from the sound. He opened his eyes and stared at the wooden ceiling beams for a moment before turning his head and peering through the darkness. Some of the orange lights still flickered into the room, and his eyes were adjusted to the dark. He could see a figure in the corner of the room. The figure wasn't hulking, and he was thankful that his cell mate seemed disinterested in causing a mess. He turned his head and looked back at the ceiling, closing his eyes and thinking longingly of the calm quiet of sleep. His mind was wide awake now, and he didn't trust sleeping with another person in the cell. What if they were another lunatic and would do something insane, like threaten another inmate in order to escape? Coren announced to the cell that he was awake with a heavy sigh, and swung his legs off the wooden bench to sit up. He lifted a hand to rub his tired face, and shove some hair out of his eyes. It needed a cut as badly as he needed a bath and clean clothes. It was hard to care for his body when all he cared about was when he got his next drink.

    "What are you in for?" he asked, leaning back and letting his shoulders rest against the wall. His deep voice had an accent: a distinct one, exposing him as a man from the southern coastal country of Farsi. Farsi and this county he was currently exploring, Meridia, were off and on when it came to war. Meridia was land-locked and Farsi held a great stretch of coast. Coren swung his feet idly back and forth beneath the bend and felt cool air rush through the holes in his shoes onto his skin.

    He was stuck in here til morning; perhaps this person would entertain him til then. Better yet, maybe they knew this town's policy on theft. He really didn't want to lose a hand.
    • Like Like x 1
  4. Mara let her white hair fall into her face as she watched him. In the dim light she could not see his details, but she noted his relaxed pose. She released a quiet sigh and began to relax, although her fingers fidgeted anxiously. The air of the prison was stiff, letting the repulsive stench linger like a thick fog. Her nose twitched in disgust. Time made it less noticeable, but never eradicated it. The calls and screams of the other inmates had quieted down. The guards only left a few torches, which remained the only light. Mara tried to remain in the shadows of the cell. She relaxed her throat as much as possible in hopes she could lower her voice.

    "Disorderly conduct and theft. You?" She asked, then wiped the blood from her lip.

    Her face was sore from where she took a couple of punches. A bloodied lip seemed to be the worst. Her other hand went to her tender side where the guard at kicked her. It didn't seem as though she had any broken bones, but it would certainly bruise and be a hindrance for a couple of days. At least they let her keep her clothes. The last prison she visited put her in rags and refused to return her favorite thieving attire. She was marked as a criminal, making the outside world even more unfriendly.

    She let her eyes wonder away from him and investigated her surroundings. Perhaps there was a way out. Her cellmate seemed content to sit quietly, at least for the moment. If he wanted to help, all the better.
  5. Coren was surprised when the figure's voice turned out to be female. He had not expected that. He was further surprised to hear that the woman was also in here for theft.

    "I'm here for surprisingly similar crimes. Public intoxication and theft." Technically, being drunk in public wasn't a problem, until you became a problem. And his problem had been being drunk and trying to steal. The combination had not worked out in his favor. His bright eyes watched the shadow of the person in the corner move a bit. Were they fidgeting? He wished the light was better. If he was stuck in this cell with an attractive woman and didn't get the chance to admire her before he was punished for his crime, it would be a crying shame.

    "Though, I could be in here for being a Farsian too," he shrugged. "For all the damned guard knows, I could have just been patting that man's ass. Not reaching for his coin purse," he scowled. "But if I'm being honest, I did just want his coin purse." He only fondled other men for their money. And not in that sort of way either! And half the time, he succeeded in getting that coin purse, and more drinks. Sometimes, he even had enough money to pay for a room... But more often than not, his money only paid for drinks. Food and a place to sleep were far less important. Food filled his stomach but made his mind sharper. Sleep was a blissful respite from the daily drudgery, but it was always disappointing to wake up and realize he was still in this world. Lastly, alcohol made his mind dull and hardly ever let him down. Oh, the sweet, sharp, burning mistress that he so loved to meet...

    And he was sober now, after his nap. It made being in the stinky cell so much worse. At least he could imagine that maybe that woman was attractive. Blonde hair, in a thick braid, he supposed. Pale skin. Pale skin wasn't quite proper for a thief, she was probably more tan, but while he couldn't see her, he could imagine whatever the hell he wanted. He imagined her to be short, with blue eyes. It was a pleasant image in his head. Far too similar to a distant memory. He scowled and wished for a drink, and then decided the woman was an ugly brunette. Yes. That was a good choice. He didn't need to be distracted by women, unless it was his Mistress Liquor.

    "Do you know what the punishment is for a first offense in this town? Last town I went through, it was a brand. Second offense was a hand."
  6. Mara couldn't help but let her lips spread into a smile at his witty remark. More times than she could count she let a man hold her close in order to take a few gold. Her aim was to get as much coin with as little hassle as possible and heaven forbid the man in question lose his trousers. An easy smile and a bit of flattery usually kept the target occupied. Liquor never hurt either. From his charges, it appeared her cellmate made a similar blunder as she did; alcohol replacing her hot temper. It was one of the many strikes Mara had against her as a thief. In Meridia, she stood out with dark purple hued skin and silky straight white hair that did a poor job of covering her ears. Her smile quickly faded as the man voiced her thoughts; the price of being caught for their crimes.

    "I do not know the punishment. I'm passing through myself." She said, answering his question and lowering her voice. "Honestly, I would like to not find out. Perhaps we could help each other on that?"

    Her golden eyes took in all the information they could in the dim light. The man seemed relaxed on the wooden board as his feet swayed back and forth. His humor towards his predicament put her at a slight ease, but she kept her guard up. It appeared he wasn't crazy, nor looking for a fight, nor concerned with her gender, which she was sure he noticed by now. She racked her brain to think of an escape. Her body ached and her stomach gnawed at her, making it hard to concentrate. He didn't seem very keen on losing a hand, not that anyone is, perhaps he would deal with her long enough to escape. Experience said men would do quite a lot so long as they reaped the reward.
  7. Coren sighed and his legs stopped their gentle swaying. He lifted a hand to rub his face and once again, push his black hair from his eyes. It needed a cut; keeping his hair cropped wasn't much of a concern when he was drunk. Neither was hygiene. But when he was sober, he realized that he looked like one hell of a scruffy bum. Probably smelled like one too. He felt a spark of shame, and then it faded. What did he care anyways? He had no one to impress, and no reason to care. Unless smelling nice and sporting clean clothes got him more liquor, then being stinky and a slob meant more money and time spent on drinking. His mouth was dry and he knew a nice cool ale would quench his thirst. He was surprised he didn't have a worse hangover right now.

    He dropped his hand from his face and his green eyes focused on the shadowy figure in the corner of the room. He was not new to jail cells. There was almost a comfort to being in one; it was a free bed, and he was left alone, for the most part. The only problem he had with it was in the morning, they met a judge and their fate. He didn't want to get to that part of his stay. He turned his head and studied the iron door locking them inside the stone cell. It was fairly rusty. It squealed angrily when moved. But the lock was sturdy. A cylinder lock, he guessed, as they were pretty standard in cheap jails. He used to have a handful of hair pins and slivers of metal when he had been more motivated to actually make money. But nowadays he didn't care to keep well supplied, let alone worry about actual paydays.

    "You're speaking my language," he replied after a moment, still looking over the door. "But unless you've got a hair pin hidden somewhere, I'm completely at a loss when it comes to that lock."
  8. Honestly, Mara hated jail cells. The smells made her stomach churn before the food ever arrived, if it arrived. Tight enclosed areas were not her favorite. She would much rather be in the open wilderness between cities, cool night air filling her lungs. She had spent a few years as a huntsman; selling furs or offering protection to lesser lords as they traveled. Times became hard, bandits increased and the pay did not. Hunting coin purses offered the same thrill and twice the pay. Generally a night in a cell was preferred over a wolf's bite, maybe even to a light bought of poison ivy.

    Mara ran her hand through her sleek hair, pulling it out of the way. White strands fell back to their original place, contrasting her dark, ashen skin. The guards successfully found all of her knives and the crummy lock pick she kept on her belt. It was near useless, but it made the guards feel smart to find it. Thank the heavens they let her keep her clothes! A couple of quick stitches made a nice little holding place for the small sturdy couple of metal rods along outer seam of her pants. She reached down the side of her thigh and pulled them out triumphantly. She made her way across the cell and peered out to the long, dark hallway. Most of the other inmates were asleep or too drunk to care.

    "That's one problem down." Mara said with a smile. "Unfortunately, we're pretty far down here. We don't want too much hollering, nor do we want to find our friends upstairs."
  9. Coren watched the figure get up and move to the door of the cell. The few flickers of light coming through the door illuminated his cell mate, and Coren got a better look at her. He was surprised to see her skin was as dark as night, and her white hair glowed orange with the firelight. She was a drow. He had only seen a handful, and had never seen one in Farsi. They were both a little out of place in this town. So much for the pretty blonde, or ugly brunette, he thought. He had not expected this of his cell mate! His eyes caught the objects in her fist: the glint of metal, the allure of a rust-free, solid surface. She had picks! He grinned, thankful that he was getting out of the place. Of course, getting out of the jail meant leaving town, and the gods only knew where the next town was. Getting out meant a sobriety kick. His grin faded and he scratched his stubbly chin. One good thing for a bad...

    "There's a loon down a few cells, he was hollering about his teeth earlier. I highly doubt he will keep quiet." Nor would any other waking inmates. They would beg to be released and then scream when denied. Perhaps he and the woman could run out before the guards made it down to the cells, but that was one hell of a risky move. Coren frowned down at his lap, trying to get his brain to work. The poor organ didn't get a lot of work these days. Dousing the torches might mask their escape but anyone awake might raise noise at that as well. Still, even with the noise, perhaps it would add to the confusion and increase the chance they got out of this stinky pit? But how to douse the flames without being seen? The nearest torch was at least a cell or two down the hallway. What would be the chances the nearest two cells had sleeping inmates? He looked back to their cell door and groaned.

    "Well, opening that squeaking beast will wake anyone sleeping anyways," he huffed in exasperation. "Might as well just fly likes bats out of hell, huh? Open the door and make a break for it?" It was stupid, but Coren wasn't feeling too smart right now. Plus, brute force and running were something he was actually good at. Being sneaky wasn't.
  10. Mara artfully maneuvered her pick inside the lock. There were only a few tumblers, which quickly fell into place. With a click it released its hold on their cell door. She quickly put away her picks and frowned. Her golden eyes scanned the little space she could see as she thought about their situation. Her cell mate was right, the lock was the least of their worries. She shared his thoughts; there was no quiet, easy way out. She leaned against the aging metal and briefly chewed her lip in contemplation. It was sore from a punch she took earlier. Aching ribs reminded her of the guards swift kick.

    Mara glanced at her cell mate. By his scruffy appearance, it was hard to tell where his strengths were. She could move swiftly and quietly, at least long enough to make it out. The two guards were the only ones she saw on the way in. It would take time for more to come. Blast! She didn't have her knives. She'd have to rely on him to throw punches. Mara was not keen on the idea, but it beat this lovely place.

    "Best thing that happens is we're both free with two hands a piece. Worst thing that happens, we're back here." She sighed. "To be honest, I'm better with a bow or knives than my fists."

    The though crossed her mind that they wouldn't be asked to tea if they were caught. It would mean an extended vacation or perhaps the loss of more limbs. She didn't want to find out, which meant the most dreaded word to a thief. Teamwork. He could probably betray her without second thought. Furthermore, she didn't know his strengths and weaknesses well enough to be his compliment in battle. It left a lot to chance. She began to fidget again.

    "I think our best chance is to run for it and work together the rest of the way out." She said, clenching her teeth.
  11. Coren listened to the wonderful sound of the pick working the lock. The very quiet rattle of metal, the faint click. He remembered how he used to get excited at the prospect of picking a lock. He wondered if he could even still do it. It had been a while... When he was sure the door was unlocked, he got to his feet. He took a few steps towards the door, but kept his distance from the woman and the door. He didn't need her spooking on him.

    "I've got no problem with fists. ...Usually," he added, looking down at his hands. He was sober right now, so his aim shouldn't be too horrible. Right? He couldn't remember his last sober fight. He liked to think it would have been a wonder to behold, especially when compared to sloppy, drunken bar brawls. Damn, drinking is making me forget everything. Even useful shit, he thought, scowling faintly and scratching his stubbly cheek. He briefly thought about not drinking, but the thought went away quickly. Ha! Forgetting everything was better than remembering something. He looked over the door again. He knew he was out of shape and a mess. He could still run and throw a punch though, if it meant his life depended on it. And, who knew, maybe his life did depend on it. He hadn't been caught when escaping a jail. He bet the price for that was far more than a hand.

    He sighed when she suggested they work together. He had half been hoping she would just open and they could bolt for it, fend for themselves, that sorta thing. She had other ideas. He thought about this for a moment before shrugging. "I don't much remember the way out. I wasn't really sober when I came in. You lead the way, I'll throw the punches." And maybe hit something. Maybe.
  12. Mara took a deep breath and held it for a moment. She noticed his sigh at her suggestion. It wasn't a surprise that he wasn't keen on the idea. She learned that if you expect the worst of someone then it's less of a disappointment when they act as such and a pleasant surprise when they don't. The scruffy man could be capable of anything. Perhaps he'd leave her behind or kill her as soon as they were out. She was loosing time thinking about it. If they caught the guards on a shift change, there would be twice as many to contend with.

    "On the count of three, I suppose." Mara said, ready to push the door open. She glanced at him once more, hoping he'd stay close behind and wouldn't be needed. "One...Two...Three."

    She pushed the door open and the metal screamed, echoing down the halls. Unless they recently drank themselves into a coma, the other inmates were certainly awake. Chances were the guards heard it from outside. Mara put one foot in front of the other, easily gaining speed. The stiff air parted as she sprinted, her hair flowing behind her. Voices rose from the cells, quickly traveling faster than she could. Hands reached out between the bars of the cells, grasping out to the air as their owners begged to be set free as well. She ignored them and focused on the wooden door at the end of the hall.
  13. This was really happening. They were really going to attempt to escape this jail. Succeeding meant keeping all their limbs. Failing meant far worse than losing a limb. Coren drew in a deep breath and shifted the weight on his feet anxiously. He felt the pressure of his body weigh into his heels, stretching the arches of his feet. He flexed his toes in his ragged boots, and felt the air move around the digits. He let out the breath slowly and drew another in, just as slowly. The air was stale in his lungs but his blood began to flow faster. He could hear better, as if his ears were catching the sounds of the jail for the first time. It was fairly quiet right now;almost everyone was sleeping. His eyes focused on the metal of the door, and he could almost see the rusting of the door in the dim light. His muscles began to wake up, his groggy body coming alive, readying for the run and excitement. He rolled his shoulders and almost grinned. It was amazing what a little adrenaline could do.

    The gate squealed when the woman pushed it open and she was out of the cell in the blink of an eye. Coren heard her footsteps echo down the hall before he even managed to burst out of the cell and chase after her. Inmates began calling out, and the noise began to escalate. They didn't have much time. The two pitiful torches illuminated the wooden door at the end of the hallway. He tried to remember what was on the other side; a waiting room? A place to store their gear? Guards? It couldn't open to the outside. It was never that easy.

    Coren was out of shape but he was taller than the woman and soon his long strides had him close behind her. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, but then he blinked and they were feet from the door. His blood pounded in his ears, and then the door slammed open. Tubby bald-guard and Ginger Beard were there, confused and angry, until their eyes landed on the two escapees fleeing right at them.

    "We have prisoners esca-" The tubby man began to bellow, but he was cut off. Coren was too close and going too fast to bother stopping. He had no weapons anyways. He grit his teeth and ran right into the fat guard, ducking his shoulder and full on attacking the bigger man. Normally, Coren's lack of a rotund body might have been a problem, but the guard was caught by surprise. His bellow cut off and he fell hard onto his back, Coren landing on top of the squishy landing platform. Coren sucked in a breath and sat back, punching the man in his face. He hoped the drow could hold her own for a moment with Ginger-Beard; he didn't think Tubby would go down with just one punch.
  14. Mara's breath caught in her throat as the door opened, revealing her two favorite people. The man had caught up to her and showed no signs of stopping. He flew into Tubby and they toppled to the ground. A smile spread across Mara's busted lip; she could take Ginger Beard. He began to gain his composure and reached for the sword at his belt, but Mara tackled him, pushing him a few feet back to hit the opposite wall of the hallway. All of his air and a groan escaped his lips. His sword fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

    The dark hand quickly grabbed the leather hilt, calloused fingers finally feeling at home. She honestly did not want to kill the ginger bearded man. She was a thief, not an assassin. Her hope was he hit his head hard enough to black out or was too winded to stand. To her displeasure, he was fully conscience and not trilled to see her. He quickly pulled out a knife from his belt and jabbed it in her direction. She pushed him aside with the short sword. The dim torch light flickered in his eyes, glowing with rage. If being slammed against a wall hurt, he did not show it. His lips pulled back like a wild animal about to attack its pray. There wasn't much room in the small space to move around. This hallway was better lit than the one lined with cells, but it still stank of stale air, pee, and vomit. The stair way leading up to the ground floor was to the left, if memory served her right. If she ran now, Ginger Beard would probably kill her cellmate and not be far behind her. Despite having a sword, she'd be out numbered on the way out.

    Ginger Beard crazily swung his knife. Mara could barely keep up. Without the weight a sword held, he could move rapidly. His anger made his movement wild, uncontrolled, and unpredictable. Her energy was spent on trying to defend herself; she couldn't break long enough to swing in return. He finally lunged forward and grabbed her right wrist, pushing her against a wall. She twisted as he stabbed at her, then kicked him back with all of her strength. Ginger Beard staggered back for a moment. Mara wasted no time hitting him square in the side of the face with her elbow. She heard a sickening crack as he fell the ground. He grunted as he tried to move. She avoided a knife to the gut, but had managed to graze her as she was pinned to the wall. She could feel the sting of a fresh wound on her left side. Along with her bruised ribs it was certainly going to slow her down. She grunted and turned to her partner, hoping his struggle was going better than hers.
    • Like Like x 1
  15. Coren knew almost instantly that tackling a man almost twice his weight had been a bad idea. Coren had not been eating well lately; money for booze rather than bread was more important. He also hadn't been doing things to keep in shape, like running from guards... He was out of shape and weak. This man had been eating enough for three men, clearly. It was a miracle that Coren had been able to knock the man to the ground at all. His first punch landed squarely on Tubby's nose. He felt bone give away, there was a crunch, and when he pulled his fist back there was blood. Coren's bright eyes fell on the blood and he felt the briefest moment of elation: he had thrown a really impressive sober punch! His elation was short-lived however, because Tubby let out a gargling howl and sent a fat fist up for Coren's chin. Stars burst and Coren felt the air rush out of his lungs as he fell off Tubby onto his back. His jaw ached, the pain rattling up into his brain. His eyes snapped back open and he sucked in a breath, rolling out of the way just in time to avoid a second punch. Tubby had sat up, and was moving to get on his feet. For a big man, he was quick.

    Coren's jaw ached as he scrambled to his feet, stumbling back a few feet. His eyes scanned the hallway for anything to help him out. The drow was fighting with Ginger Beard, but there were no weapons casually laying about. If only. Coren's eyes fell on one of the torches sitting in the metal sconce on the wall, only four or five feet away. His eyes fell on Tubby.

    "You drunchhhen idiot!" Tubby shouted, blood streaming down his pudgy white face. He lifted a fist and ran at Coren. Coren held down a yelp and leapt back, his hand finding the torch. He wrenched it free and swung the burning stick with both hands. He closed his eyes when he felt it connect with some part of Tubby. He the solid wood resist the impact and then suddenly release as it broke in two. He also felt the sparks of broken wood and fire tinge his skin as the torch exploded on the side of Tubby's head. Coren opened his eyes and stepped away, breathing hard as Tubby howled and held the side of his face. The torch clattered to the stone ground and rolled, the fire dead. Coren cursed. That solid wood still hadn't knocked this man out. But Tubby was blundering, reaching out blindly. Coren grit his teeth and darted in, yanking out the knife in the big man's belt. Tubby started to howl and grab for Coren's hand, but the adrenaline was flowing and Coren felt a spark of his old strength. He jerked the hilt of the blade down on Tubby's poor, scalded bald head as hard as he could. The metal met skin and bone with a solid thunk and Tubby collapsed.

    Coren let out a breath of relief and looked up to see his companion had finished Ginger Beard. Marvelous. But how much time had they just wasted? How many guards were pursuing them now? Coren glanced around the hallway before back to Tubby.

    "Screw it," he muttered, ducking in to grab the ring of keys on Tubby's belt. They came loose easily and he threw them at the nearest cell down the hall. The keys clattered into the chaotic hall of shouting inmates. A hand reached through a cell, reaching for the keys; and found them. Coren didn't wait to see the inmate hurrying to unlock his cell. Perhaps a few more escaped prisoners would help their chances? Coren shoved the knife into his belt and then ducked to yank with all his might on Tubby's boots. They weren't great boots, but they were solid leather and didn't have holes. Assuming he escaped this place, and assuming he had time in the next hour, a decent pair of shoes might really help him out. He held the boots to his chest, taking almost no time to get them off.

    "Okay, go!"
  16. Mara watched Coren as he tossed the keys down the hall, dirty hands grasping eagerly for them. She smirked. She would have left the poor lot of them to rot. It seemed unlikely he was kind hearted and generous. As much time as they spent taking care of Tubby and Ginger Beard, the small distraction of a few hundred freed inmates would do more good than harm. That was the hope.

    As Coren wiggled free the boots from the feet of their owner, Mara took a moment to take the knife from Ginger Beard. She placed it on her belt, but kept the sword drawn in her right hand. It wasn't her weapon of choice, but it seemed the best tool for the current job. Turned away from Coren for a moment, she looked at the damage Ginger Beard had dealt with his blade. In the dim light she could make out the dark stain on her gray shirt. She held her side and the sticky, warm liquid reached out. Alone, it wasn't a terribly dangerous wound. A healer could have her stitched up in no time. Trying to stay alive long enough to find a healer would be fun.

    Coren's words reminded her that there would be time to worry about scratches later.

    "This way." She muttered.

    She turned to her left and started down the hallway to the set of stairs at the end. Every step upwards sent a pain through her. Unsure if she should cry or scream, she simply grit her teeth together and focused at the door at the top. The thought crossed her mind of heroes in stories who had wounds far worse than hers. They seemed to brush it off like a paper cut. Perhaps they also went a weak before hunger made their stomach cramp or stubbing their toe was like a butterfly kiss.
  17. Coren took off after his companion. Behind him, he heard the growing cries, shouts, and laughter of the inmates as they freed themselves. Good. A flood of prisoners (all twenty of their ragged selves) might be a boon. Confusion was good for dumb guards! Coren caught up with the woman quickly, on her heels as they took the stairs. She was surprisingly fast...that, or he was seriously out of shape. Both were possibilities. He heard the clatter of feet down the stairs, and knew there was probably chaos down in the cells. Most inmates were probably like him: hell if they knew how they had gotten into this place, or how to get out. Before a few seconds blinked by, Coren and the woman were at the top of the stairs. He hardly waited for her, shoving open the door to the room, hand at the knife in his belt.

    The room was empty.

    There were windows in the room and he could see it was dark as pitch outside. The room had shelves and tables of supplies and gear. There was a variety of gear quality, ranging from sturdy swords and armor to ragged boots, a hunk of bread, and someone's pipe. Coren vaguely remembered being searched in this room, and suspected that half the gear in the room was various inmates gear. He hesitated, wondering if they had time to grab anything useful. His arm tightened around the boots against his chest and he heard other prisoners mounting the steps. Faintly, he heard shouts of horror and anger down in the cells: some guards from another part of the jail must be responding to the chaos downstairs. He didn't think they had time to grab anything good.

    "Just take the window!" he decided. The room had two doors but he didn't know where they went. More guards could come from them any second. He dashed across the room and dropped the boots on the floor before the window. He grabbed the sill and yanked up. The wooden frame clearly had not been opened in a while because it screeched and resisted him. "Come on!" he hissed under his breath, gritting his teeth and pulling harder. He seriously needed to take better care of himself. The wood squealed and creaked before the frame gave and the window hauled open. The opening wasn't too big but Coren knew they would squeeze through. He ducked and grabbed his shoes, looking over his shoulder to his companion and gesturing to the window.

    "Hurry, go!" he told her. He could wait until she was out and then follow after her. Hopefully they were out before more guards showed up. It was then that the flickering light of one of the torches in the room illuminated a shiny spot on the woman's torso and his eyes fell to the dark, glimmering liquid. Shit. She had been wounded by Ginger Beard? He hoped that meant she could still run without keeling over.
  18. The first thing to catch Mara's attention was the giant loaf of bread. Her stomach gave a loud protest, covered by the screech of the window. She put her sword in her belt and grabbed the loaf, wanting to eat it here and now. She was beginning to feel faint. Part in hunger, part blood loss, and part excitement. She gave a light squeeze to the loaf. Under the crisp golden brown crust she could tell it was a dense loaf. Damn, her mind was getting cloudy and slow. Bread should not be this mesmerizing.

    "Hurry, go" he said to her, snapping her out of her daze.

    Mara was thin and athletic in build. She easily slid through the window into the dark night. The room was ground level. It felt good to have the thick grass beneath her feet. Thick clouds covered the moon and the stars. The only light was from a few sparsely placed torches on the side of the building. It stood at least four stories tall. Mara guessed the guards of the city lived in the barracks above the prison. It seemed too easy to make it outside. Someone was probably on the roof waiting for them to get into shooting range. Not far from the building was a tall, smooth stone wall. They were out of the building, but still not out of danger.

    As she waited for Coren to follow her through the window, she grabbed a chuck of the loaf and ripped off. She quickly stuffed it in her mouth, smiling as she tasted it. It must have been meant for a captain or general, whatever he called himself, because it was delicious. As hungry as Mara was, it was likely it was average bread, but she didn't care. There was more than enough for her and Coren. She happily stuffed another bite in her mouth.
  19. Coren paused to grab his stolen pair of boots and climbed through the window slightly less gracefully than the woman had. She moved easily with the wound, so he assumed it wasn't too bad. As he planted his feet on the grass, he felt the cool night air rush in through the holes of his shoes. He couldn't wait to change into the stolen pair of shoes, but there was no time for that. His eyes swept the yard. They would have to clear the fence. He glanced up at the dark night sky, and wondered if he had to worry about getting an arrow into the back. This had seemed way too easy...

    He paused to look to his companion and frowned to see her shoving her face with bread. "Really?" he asked flatly, raising his eyebrows. "We are escaping a prison and you're eating?" It was a pity the woman did not have time to answer him, because not a second after he spoke, he heard a shout. He startled and looked over his shoulder, into the window they had just escaped from. Several guards (with alarming amounts of blood splatter on their uniforms) were emerging from the door to the stairwell. "There they are!" one was shouting, pointing right at Coren and Mara. Coren didn't bother giving the 'keep running!' command. Even with her mouth full, he figured the woman understood that bloody guards meant run.

    He didn't have time to think about an arrow to the back. He dashed straight for the wall. The paving of the stones was rough and it was probably fairly easy to climb....assuming someone was good at climbing, had good shoes, was in shape, and wasn't afraid of heights. Coren was none of those things, naturally. However, the wall cast a black shadow, deepened by the darkness of the night. Running along it might provide just enough cover until he figured out a better way to escape. He got to the wall, heart pounding, and paused to look and see if the woman was coming. Did he try and split from her now and fend for himself? She had been useful so far, fighting off guards and leading part of the way out. She could still be useful, or slow him down. What am I kidding, I'm the slow one, he thought, breathing hard just from the sprint to the wall. He hesitated to wait for the woman. Perhaps his chances of survival were better with her.

    Guards were clambering out of the window now, drawing their weapons (swords, mainly) when they landed on the grass. Coren didn't think his knife would do much good against a sword.
  20. Mara clung to her bread, brushing away Coren's comment. A man clinging to boots had no room to complain. It helped her head clear and her belly was no longer begging for her attention. The wound in her side and her bruised ribs still nagged her to stop. She racked her brain to think of an escape. Climbing the wall would be difficult. Neither of them would be fast enough to escape the guards notice. Fighting their way out would end poorly. A distraction would be useful.

    She quickly followed him to the shadow of the wall. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted that at least three guards were out of the window. Armed with only a knife, her partner wouldn't last long. Judging by their blood stained uniforms, he wouldn't make a useful distraction. Partners usually worked best alive, anyway. She stayed close to him in the shadows. Perhaps he had a plan. He could certainly hold his own in a fight.

    "Any ideas?" she whispered.
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.