The cuffs around your wrists and ankles are beginning to cut into your skin. "Move along," says one of the guards surrounding you. The person in front gets off the wooden wagon. One by one, your fellow prisoners follow suit. When the convict in front of you gets up, the manacles painfully pull against your skin. After getting out from under the canvas roof of the caravan, you see a large two story wooden building with a large fence made from polished tree trunks. The guards march you into a courtyard. There surrounded by a crowd of inmates, you meet the warden.

"You cretins have been deemed by the government of Korvosa to be criminals, toothless criminals, but law-breakers nonetheless. As you can see, I have a large facility, lots of guards and big walls. Play nice together, and your stay here doesn't have to be unpleasant. Fighting will not be tolerated." He then orders the guards to give you your new prison clothes. You are to change your clothes, here, in front of the rest of the prison. Cheers and laughter rise up from the surrounding criminals, obviously, all of them had done this before.

Make sleight of hand checks to determine what you are able to bring in.

It did not matter much to Citlali whether anyone was watching while she changed into prison clothes. She didn't have anything they hadn't seen before, and compared to the shame of being captured, nudity was nothing. She tried to conceal her small knife from the guards, but apparently they were watching better than she thought they were, for before she had moved much after secreting it, one of them roughly yanked it away. One of the guards unlocked her manacles while the others pointed weapons at her. Not that there was anywhere to run to.

She drew the clothes off, folding them nicely and strutting before the guards as she handed them over. “Keep these safe and in an easily accessible place, would you? I'd like to retrieve them soon. And it would be a bother to search far and wide for them.” While the guards had managed to take her knife, they had not found her lockpicks. Those she had carefully concealed deep inside her charcoal gray hair.

Her body was tall compared to many, but everything else about her physique spoke of her almost not being quite there. Had she been a human, or gods forbid, an elf, she would have been viewed as almost sickly thin. Of course, her colorless, gray-white skin did give her a bit of a sickly pallor, so that wasn't unexpected. It was doubtful that anyone saw her as all that attractive. She certainly did not see any of them as such. Beyond the fact that she was female, of course.

Citlali had tried to fight back at first, but it had quickly become apparent that there was no way out at the time. She'd simply have to bide her time and use whatever chances luck brought her. She should probably have known better than to fall into that trap, but clearly she hadn't done so. Thus she was captured.

She did not pay attention to the other prisoners. For now, they were irrelevant. Later, that might change. A guard locked the manacles back on after she had changed, then led her onwards into the nice and dark tunnel into prison complex. She liked the shadows. They reminded her of home.

If the first creature had looked somewhat sickly, the one following her looked like the picture of health by comparison. He wasn't wearing much to start with, some combination of a loincloth and a kilt, along with some knotted leather armbands around his fairly large biceps- and large they were, along with the rest of him. His black-scaled bulk stood nearly seven feet high, capped off with a fanged grin that would look more at home on a fox being released into a chicken coop than it would on a prisoner. He seemed to make no fuss about removing his meagre garments, his anatomy ensuring that, at present, there was nothing to show off, but he quickly started chuckling in a rumbling voice as he looked at the provided clothing. Rather than try to fit into them and tear them apart, he settled for just tying them around his waist and improvising them into another loincloth.

If, throughout any of this, he was bothering to hide anything, it certainly wasn't apparent. Given the large claws on his hands and the lack of anywhere apparent to hide such things though, the more likely possibility was that he simply wasn't bothering to try.

For all his size and vicious-looking appearance, he didn't seem to resist as he was led towards his cell. Rather, he seemed almost to be happy to be here as he was herded through the tunnels, grinning like a sharp-toothed cheshire cat at the other prisoners.

"Aw.. No fighting? What about boxing?" Solace leans a little into the Warden as she takes off her shirt, unveiling the array of scars and incredibly defined muscles that interfere slightly with what would normally be an above average appearance, ending up looking fairly average. But, hey, never know who'd be into that in a prison.

"What would make my stay a little more "pleasant" would be to get to fight you in the ring, official and all. You're said to be a skilled fighter, Warren Hunter, maybe one of the best in this prison. If I'm not leaving the prison, I'd love to get a good brawl out of the way where it's not gonna hurt anybody."

"And if you like making shows this much," She gestured around at the crowd with one hand as her other unsubtly removed her pants, leaving her quite bare. "Then what say we do it for our lovely audience here?"

Isidora entered the prison reluctantly. Long, tangled, black hair obscured her dirty face. Her clothes were in tatters around her, a result of her struggling against the guards when they took her here. She fidgeted with the manacles around her body as she was pulled along by the rest of the captives. Once inside the gate, she stared disgust at the display in front of her. Men and women in dirty clothes and chains howling and cheering as more people are brought into their flock. The cheering only increases when she is told to strip down and change in front of the crowd.

Unable to hide the look of disgust that passed her eyes, she used her dark hair to hide herself as best as she could while she changed. She did so quickly. Her eyes darted around the crowd, menacingly. Some averted their gaze when they met her wild, green eyes. Others only watched her closer after glimpsed her dark and violent personality.

Inwardly, she laments the loss of her familiar. Without it, she would have no way of recovering her magic power after she had spent what she had stored.

At first only half listening to the warden Valaeris Alois instead looked around at the guards, his fellow prisoners, and anything else that caught his eye, which a few female prisoners did. With that he took a moment to study the warden fully as his manacles were removed for the moment. Massaging his wrists for a moment he thought on plans for escape. It would take some time that was for sure, he began to disrobe caring little for his nudity. Physically he had a powerful build having lived a healthy life with thick arms corded with muscle, a barrel chest, and muscles rippling down his body. If not for his face he would likely be very attractive physically, as it was his face with it's slight disproportionality and imperfect symmetry he was not horrific but would rarely be called handsome. Once naked he took a few moments to stretch out his body after being cramped with the other prisoners for so long as well as work some of the tired feeling from his body. The travelling had caused him to be extremely fatigued of late and now that they were here he hoped to rectify that.

All the tools he had would need to be brought to bear, touching the birthmark on the left side of his chest he felt the power of his goddess within him knowing that it her alone would likely be enough for him to escape. The problem was how long it would take, the other prisoners seemed like potential recruits but he was unsure, one woman caught his eye as she marched right up to the warden and seemed to challenge him to a duel. That brought a smile to his face, as did her nude form. She was not as attractive as he usually preferred but the fire in her he liked as wel as her body, then he noticed something that almost made him laugh, he almost missed it only barely noticing. The slight blushing revealed it though, her nudity embarrassed her, that was quite cute of her with the way she blustered about now. He would need to find a way to be alone with her later, there was great potential in her use he felt.

He continued to dress slowly, mostly watching to see how this event played out. Hopefully they would fight, there was no way she could win against him but he wanted to see anyway. Afterwards they might throw her to the prisoners and there Valaeris would be sure to tend to her wounds thoroughly. Minions would need to be acquired and she seemed liked a strong start. If the warden also brought himself down to their level for a fight it also would open up countless new avenues for their escape which would greatly shorten his stay. There was little enjoyment to be had in these walls that he could see and that would certainly not do to worship his goddess in such a paltry manner.

"Get changed, convict!" the Warden barks at Solace. "Come this close to me again, and you'll be fighting me with your hands tied behind your back." He shoves the woman away. After that, he starts watching the other prisoners more closely. His dark, green eyes begin scanning the newcomers for any signs of disobedience. Thankfully, Citlali had her lockpick stashed safely away. Around them, the guards grip their weapons more tightly and inmates begin to quiet down, seeming to take interest in their new company.

"Deal!" Solace agrees heartily, turning around and putting her hands together at the wrist. "Legs are enough for me to fight with, though it'll make boxing a little awkward."

"Time and place?"

Given that the crowd had quieted down, everyone would have heard the new inmate agree to fight the warden with her hands tied behind her back.

OOC: Make a Perception check Gecko.

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.

Velaeris senses only the Warden's confidence in being able to handle the prisoners. He watches as he quickly pulls a billy club from his belt, but before the cleric can issue a warning, the leader of the prison slams the stick into the back of Solace's head. (8 damage taken) Unlike the warden, he sees Citlali's lockpick hiding in locks of hair.

Watching the woman taunt the warden on was ever more amusing, right up until she left herself completely open and was beaten upside the head for it. He had considered warning her of the imminent strike but hesitated thinking he did not want to draw undue attention to himself at this juncture and that hesitation allowed the warden to strike without warning. She would be feeling that later for sure as he turned away from the woman who had gone before the warden something else caught his eye now.

Looking over a magnificent specimen of the elven race caught his eye, she acted so haughty there even almost completely nude before so many with such a fragile gentle figure she tried to appear better than everyone around her. Her flesh tantalized him more than any female he had seen in quite some time and he knew he would have her. It would be one of his first goals to break her of her superior airs and force her to bend the knee before him. Just as all others would, watching as her muscles flexed sinuously beneath her skin though he knew she would be the first to do so.

Looking about at the masses of chattel who had watched their arrival more and more plans came together in his head. What was once a prison could become a fortress, these guards slain and their bodies put to better use, the chattel turned to minions. There were skilled individuals all about him and he needed only bring them to him and understand they were to serve him. The female who had so cleverly hidden her lockpicks, the woman who had dared to oppose the warden on her first day, and now this luxurious elven beauty. There would no doubt be others he could draw to him but already he was assembling what he needed, this would be a short stay in prison Velaeris could already tell and prepared to walk forth into his cell.

After Solace rejoined the line up, the prisoners were reshackled into groups of two. Citlali, the rogue, was connected to the saurian brute, Sujurak. The brazen Solace was chained to the quiet Isidora. The proud Velaeris was bound to the beautiful Assallya. They were led through the stone walls of their prison. Immediately, they notice the first thing they need to pass through to enter the prison is the guard's quarters. Some people are sleeping within bunks, most likely the ones that will be on duty during the night shift. Immediately through the guard's chambers is a junction. With three doors. The north door is where you came from. The east door remains closed, and you are forced to the west where cells line the walls in three levels. They are brought up to the top level and placed in three cells side by side. Then, they are told to stay against the far wall, are unchained, and locked into their cages.

The cells are your usual stone rooms with barred doors, but there is still room for you to stick your arms out. However, the entire 10ft section at the front is open like that to avoid prisoners getting the drop on guards. The rooms are about 15ft deep and when guards enter a cell, it is policy for prisoners to stand against the far wall. A pair of bunks stand against one of the side walls. In a far corner near the beds, there is a bucket for lavatorial needs.

The three levels of the cell block have six cells on each the north and south walls for a total of 36 cells. About half of them are empty with the others still containing prisoners. You estimate that the block holds about 60 or 70 people at any point in time to avoid overcrowding. Including the 16 sleeping guards, you've seen close to 30 different guards. One guard patrols each level of the cell block and ten were out watching the prisoners in the yard.

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.

*WHAM* The blow landed solidly on Solace's head, the successful surprise attack.

Blood trickled down Solace's naked form as she slowly turned.

"That the best you got? If you're gonna take a surprise attack on an unarmed girl, you'd better have enough guts to finish the job." Solace grabbed the clothes, slinging them over her shoulder as she rejoined the line. "Now, I'll get dressed after I get cleaned up. Wouldn't want my nice new clothes to get all bloody, now, wouldn't we?"

Solace payed little, if any, attention to Isadora. Upon reaching her cell, Solace didn't seem to pay any mind to cleaning herself up. The blood drying so it wouldn't stain was apparently her definition of "clean".

Tearing into the garments given her, Solace quickly bandaged her feet and hands as traditional of many styles of martial artist. What remained when she was finished was more reminiscent of a tank top with no midriff and shorts, tightened around her form with more strips.

Citlali was eventually chained to another prisoner. She did not know him. At least she thought it was a him. She lacked much knowledge about lizards. They were led deep inside the prison, through the guardroom and into a cellblock. Classic stone walls. Few torches and no windows. Others might be unnerved by this, but Citlali rather liked it. The shadows were, after all, where she belonged. Even if she could have fought back, she did not do so as they were led up to a cell. Even if she could have managed to overpower the guard now, something she doubted she could, they would not yet be able to get out.

The guard pushed them into the cell, forced them up against the wall and unlocked the manacles, retreating rapidly to lock the door to the cell. It relieved Citlali that they would not be forced to wear chains constantly. It took her but a few moments to take in the details of the room. Bare stone walls. Rough, wooden bunks along one wall, padded with sacks of hay. A single bucket in the corner for lavatorial needs. A few minutes after the guard left, she stepped up to the bars and started inspecting the lock. It did not take her long to figure out that it would not be easy to pick, as the design wasn't one she was familiar with. She could try there and then, but it would probably fail and might alert someone.

Instead, she sat down on the lower bunk and started thinking. Mapping out what she knew and organizing it into categories based on usefulness in the current situation. It would have made everything so much easier if she'd learned to shift planes, but of course she hadn't learned that yet. She knew for a fact that this particular prison did not exist back home on the shadow plane. She did not pay much attention to what the lizard was up to. If he wanted to talk, she had no doubt he would eventually do so. Till then, she would remain silent.

Velaeris silently followed the guard's instructions up to his cell studying everything he could along the way. This did not seem likely to be easy as he watched the guards and prisoners. No escape seemed possible except straight through the guard quarters and unarmed and armored it would be unnecessarily difficult. They would need to get past the guard quarters to the courtyard somehow. The prisoners here largely seemed of little importance though a few stood out as potential minions of some value. As he reached his cell he quickly began to assess what he could though once again saw little of use here. Turning about after entering the cell he held out his manacles to be released.

Once freed from those he strode away from the door and sat down upon on of the beds and looked upon his roommate with a rather nefarious smile, "Greetings pretty one. I am Velaeris, I doubt you know of me or have heard of me but that is fine. You will grow to know me quite well," he then gestured about the room as he continued, "As you can see it is now just you and me with very little to do so I feel we should get properly acquainted now. I am Velaeris Alois, I own you now, and you will do everything that I say, Do you understand elf?"

Isidora smirked, just a bit, at the woman's antics before the warden. It faded at the skull cracking blow she received from the man's club. Despite the blood, the blow didn't seem to drain any of the lady's energy. The witch kept a close eye on her after that, doubly so when they became chained together. She was able to keep up with the aggressive lady's pace rather easily, but stayed behind so to better watch her.

The cell they were in was small enough that they couldn't really avoid each other, despite the efforts of her cell mate, so Isidora decided to open up the conversation. "That was really impressive, weakening the warden's image the way you did."

"Mmm.." Solace's response was a bare minimum. She stared at Isidora for a few moments. Likely sizing her up whether she was worth talking too.

After apparently making a judgment one way or another, Solace sat down on a bunk and leaned gingerly against the wall, most of her pressure at the shoulders. Her tough demeanor faded for a moment as she let the cool stone soothe her head wound, and her eyes closed just a little too long for a blink. As they opened again, Solace refocused on Isidora. "Alright. What did you want out of this conversation?"

"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.