Be it for thievery, the unlawful use of magic, your genetics, or whatever reason, you find yourself trapped in a freshly made cell in a dungeon. Travok Thornbreak, the dwarf; Trear Oakfell, the elf; and Ashkar Branor, the man. You three have been brought to this dungeon by cart, blindfolded and gagged, you do not know where this dungeon lies.

The fourth, Norixius Tarhun, the dragonborn, was in the cell when you previous three arrived, though by the look of it, he wasn't there long. In fact, he'd only arrived to the cell that morning. The cell itself is carved into the stone that surrounds the dungeon, all but the wall that leads to the hallway made of roughly hewn rock. The bars themselves are brand new, and show no signs of wear.

The stench of the dead, tortured, and dying fill the air, even the guards themselves wear cloth around their mouths and noses to hold off the stink. A young but frail man is huddled in the corner, his dirty rags and abused form giving evidence to the idea that he was the one person in the cell who hadn't just arrived at the dungeon. Aside from his absent murmurring, the sound of the chatter of nearby but out of sight guards, and the wailing of the damned, the sound of a dozen picks against rock reaches out from one of the larger side passages.

A few moments pass, and then the man turns towards the three who'd just arrived, despite having ignored Norixius' presence and any attempts from him to get the man's attention. He doesn't speak, nor does he move from his position, but he stares. At Travok specifically, with the wide-eyed look of an animal inflicted with the desperate hunger of starvation, but there was no malice or ill intention, just pure desperation.

The ambient miasma that seemed to permeate the air was the most startling element of the experience for the man, something of which he was wholly unfamiliar to and it urged him to grit his teeth, which he obliged without question. While being free of the bondage he had found himself in earlier was a blessing, he traded one curse of the civilized world for another as he was now cast into this pit and left to clearly rot.

Eyes now adjusted to the dingy lighting of the dust choked dungeon, the sizable man in height, stature and presence kept to himself initially, but was quick to note the company he was now keeping in the form of another man, a dwarf, an elven woman and a sizable draconic form that seemed to tower in the cramped quarters. The foremost and clearly the most worn by this prison, huddled in a corner, murmuring to himself only to pause and stare upon the ginger haired, stout newcomer, lips quivering out of hunger and thirst alike.

In nothing but tattered slave's cloth, of which did not conceal his sleek musculature, the man instinctively reached for his now departed instrument from his side, sighing upon the realization nothing could seem to break this bleak ambiance now.

"So this is the 'justice' that was spoken about." He uttered, audible enough for those around within the cell to hear, "Some grim pit in the earth."

Stepping forward, a palm brushing a freshly cut albeit dusted wall in passing examination, he stayed clear of the younger man and the golden scaled dragon-being for the time being, adding only further; "At least we are not alone in this darkness."

@darkandstar@EruditeAssassin@Hekazu@VKAllen

Crippling darkness had shaken the elf's steady stature. Her senses had dulled thanks to the subtle rattle of cart that held her prisoner. The sound of crashing wood had startled her-- Body pulled and pushed to stand and walk towards something. That was all the she could gather.

The dungeon was pungent of corpses. Taste of fresh kill that traditionally would enamour her was noisome. She reared her nose, but the girth of the rags she wore bore no comfort. Her refuge was the southern wall, pinned to its cold reaches peering at the other prisoners she had been kept with. The natural darkvision was able to quickly uncover the identities of each figure before her. Man, Dragonkin and Dwarf.

Beyond the edge of her vision was another weak, frail man. Certainly was here before her.

"So this is the 'justice' that was spoken about." The rough, gravelly voice spoke. "Some grim pit in the earth." Her eyes caught sight of the man clearing the Dragonkin and the frail man. She kept her head low, but her eyes observing quietly. Her hunter senses took hold as she focused upon the his interaction. "At least we are not alone in this darkness."

"And alive." The elf interjected.

"And alive."

The elven woman's tone punctuated the conversation as it unfolded before the five. She was that which spurred the man to looking upon the motley lot all together in this crude cell, mulling over what it meant to be "alive" in this circumstance. With a powerful exhale, a chortle really, he voiced his agreement in part at her words.

"I suppose we could call this living."

His voice had an odd rumble to it, but he carried on without the slightest of acknowledgments about it, withdrawing his bare back from the hewn stone out of visible discomfort from resting against it. It was little surprise that such a powerful man had such a rough tone, but it was surprising that he was still clearly on the younger side of men. From his corner, he looked to the woman, whose blonde hair hung messily about her, having been ruined by the journey's harshness; he himself fared little better too.

"So what will they do with us?" He inquired, brow raising above a golden eye as his hands rubbed "clean" the grit gathered earlier by touching the wall. He directed his conversation and attention predominantly now to the emaciated figure who had been speaking to himself for a time, silenced only by the dwarf, but left it's matter open.

He expected the tremendous dragon-man to know, if anyone was to have an idea, but he was not preparing to place his hopes out upon the limb that he would even receive an answer of any merit.

@darkandstar@EruditeAssassin@Hekazu@VKAllen

"Death. That is all you can expect in this place. A catacombs in which the living can grow closer to the void to which we journey." The words exited his mouth in much harsher a tone than he had expected; months of incarceration had only been dulled by this new recess he inhabited. All he knew of the place was that those outside its walls feared it more than death itself.

The arrival of the three had brought with it a foul smell, heightened only by the Dragonborns senses. The dwarf carried with him a stench of sweat that the Dragonborn was unaccustomed to, although he could tell a smiths hands from the callous exteriors. Perhaps if this dwarf were as devoted to his craft as Norixius Tarhun, there may be a hope for some form of comradery.

The human would have to be watched, as his tendons twitched with a strength the Dragonborn was all too familiar with. His dirty exterior spoke of extended periods in the woods more than simple acquisition in his transport to this place.

The wood elf offended his mind more than his senses, as the stories of wood elves preceded her, ignorance to his craft and fanatic pursuit of natures survival precluding any possible friendly relations. "Elf, in my past I was a smith. Trees are for burning, creating something stronger and more valuable. I very much wish to sleep without fearing for your wiry hands around my throat, so if this will be a problem I'd rather we conclude our interactions now." The menacing tone of his voice carried with it the experience in battle he had long grown accustomed to.

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@VKAllen@darkandstar@Hekazu

Trear wouldn't get the chance to reply, a metal boot striking out to clack loudly against the bars. The noise of the boot on bars was accompanied from a squeak from the man, as he fell back in a desperate attempt to keep away from the guard.

"Shut it in 'ere, you filth." A guard ordered. With that, and a moment's waiting to insure they listened, he turned and moved back towards his post. Not thirty seconds later, the sound of boots on the rocky floor came to the cell, followed by the source. Two guards appeared at the bars, and stopped, turning towards the residents of the cell. A few prisoners followed behind them, bound.

"Lookin' for volunteers for a workin' party." The one in the lead droned.

After the group had arrived and Travok had made sure nobody from outside these bars was watching, he spat the purple, palm-sized gemstone he had hidden in his mouth onto his hands. "Ain't nobody separating a man from his god...", he murmured as he wiped his spit off the crystal on his clothes.

This place sure stank, but even with all of this smell in the air it was hardly as intense as what he had grown used to in the masonry scene... those fluids carried not so pleasant odours as well and there he had to be next to the bunch. The scent that floated in this room thus caused pretty much no reaction whatsoever in the dwarf.

The others in this cell were... well, there was really no connection he could draw between them. A dragonborn, an elf and two humans... the other of which kept staring at him, desperately. "What would you be looking at, hm?" Travok would have liked to ask, but before he got the chance the big human was already taking the stage.

Travok didn't really care to hear what they had to say, so he instead focused on his patron's blessing, gazed into the yellow and black coloured stripe that ran from the top of the sphere to bottom... although it was hard to tell if either side really was up, given it was perfectly round. As soon as he heard the word 'justice', however, he placed the gem into his left hand and pushed it behind his surprisingly orderly beard.

He followed their discussion, waiting to see whether there would be anything he wanted to add. The human was clearly dissatisfied with the treatment he received from his kin and Travok could only agree. Humans were short-lived and thus rather short-sighted creatures. They would throw judgement out willy-nilly as they hadn't the need to live with the consequences of their actions for quite as long. He was tactful enough to know not to say that out loud though.

Once the man got into an argument about what 'living' might account for, Travok rolled his eyes. The lass had said 'alive' and she was correct at that. They were quick to change subject again (hasty little buggers, not giving Travok time to form an opinion he could voice) and now the dragonborn was one to speak. A start of gloom and doom later, they went and gave her a piece of their mind regarding advancement and nature. Travok found himself agreeing with the big guy, trees were quite good material to build out of as well.

Suddenly, a clang resonated from the bars of the cell as a guard of said place wanted the people to shut it. Travok found himself slightly glad of the fact these guys had not given him a chance to speak, given how the smaller man reacted to the guard approaching like that. Even if he had picked his sitting place close to the door, he had not said anything to anger them...

Soon after the guard had come and gone, a few more appeared with men in tow, looking for something they called 'volunteers'. Yeah, right. Travok decided to take up on the offer though, if only to get to say his reply: "Well if it's anything to do with minin' an' stonework, I'll get there. You'll need someone who actually knows how to do this thing." As he spoke, he waved his right hand in the air, making sure to keep his focus hidden under his beard.

"And I will add my weight to the cause. Seems a silly thing to hack away at stone with no further purpose, but if moving mountains is your goal..."

Tarhun moved towards the door.

The company the man found in the collective was far from friendly, for a myriad of reasons, but of which he could not fault them; they were not here, packed into this cage of iron and stone, because they wished to be, and each seemed to carry with them their own burdens beyond that which came with their sentence to this place. The dragonborn exemplified this, in that he announced his desire to be left alone if it came down to a disagreement on philosophy... or to outright settle the business before it could fester; either way, the pleasantry of his conversation was interrupted.

The dwarf had kept to himself, toying with a fine purple gem as large as the man's well worked palm. It was a strange thing, but he reasoned this unusual lot had done their best to keep something of value. What good a gem would do here was unknown, but the dwarf muttered under his breath whilst looking upon its elegant surface, at least until the sound from the bars being struck rang out.

With a slight cough, the exile narrowed his eyes, looking over the guard who approached and scolded them; he did not figure the man cared, at least not anymore than he should have, but perhaps he legitimately preferred the sounds of moans, the clatter of picks on stone and the dragging of chain. Some men, as he had learned recently, did not find anything quite wrong with the situation they were in, caged and worked worse than animals. This entire place spoke volumes to what vileness had become this kingdom, however, and whatever supposed glory days it had were likely long since gone.

It was not long after the other man left that more neared, this time asking for "volunteers".

Branor might have spent the majority of his time away from his supposed kin, the very same who seemed content to shackle him in this moment, but he knew better than to resist here and now. Now was the time to see what this place was, and despite the looming shadows, few torches and sickly air, he considered himself better prepared than most. Falling in line with the dwarf, who seemed to be a clever man in burying his treasure deep within his beard, and the dragon-being.

"And I will add my weight to the cause. Seems a silly thing to hack away at stone with no further purpose, but if moving mountains is your goal..."

A subtle grin pulled at the corner of his roughly stubbled cheek, but he said nothing in reply, instead giving the scaled titan ample room; the two had already sized one another up earlier, and both seemed to reason the other was dangerous enough to avoid being caught up with in a contest of might. It was a mutual courtesy and clearly the common enemy here was not anyone among this cell's confines.

Looking from the bars to the men outside, he nodded, "As will I."

@darkandstar@EruditeAssassin@Hekazu@VKAllen

The frail man stood at the call for volunteers, and hobbled over, hunched over in fear and exhaustion. There was another goal to his hunching over, his looking at the ground. As he passed Travok he spoke, under his breath, his mouth hidden by his posture.

"Stick with me." It was a whisper so quiet Travok may not have even understood if he hadn't been so close, and with that, he moved on as the guards opened the gate to let out those who'd volunteered to join the prisoners in tow.

The guards didn't seem to mind him throwing snark at them. A shame, he would've loved to ask them the good old "Well have you been in the stonemasonry scene for the last century, have you?" A reeeal shame. As the dwarf was making his way to the door, the smaller human of the cell passed him and Travok could swear the man said something to him... was it something about sticking with them? Well, they had been here for longer so it would certainly be an option.

The amount of other volunteers surely was higher than he had thought, but maybe these people would rather see what was going down there rather than rot in this pungent trap. He couldn't blame them. As for him, well, the stonework was quite shoddy to his eye, evidently hastily done. Do it well or don't do it at all was the dwarven way and if at all possible he'd like to see that done. And perhaps there would be a way out out there?

Travok clutched his Arcane Focus under his beard. Technically, he had the might of the slumberer at his fingertips... before he had the chance to realise any thoughts of utilizing it though, a disembodied voice gurgled within the confines of his mind: "I̢t ҉w҉o͝u̕l͘d̴ ̢be͏ b͏est́..͘. t͡o l͟et͝ ̡those ̷t̷h͘ou̸gh̢ts͢ be̕.̛.̛. f͠or͜ no͘w̢.͠.̵.". That was enough to change his mind, so he chose to simply follow the man who had spoken to him.

Crashing chains interrupted her snicker. Her conscience perked and faced the outer cell in front of her where guards demanded them their silence. It was granted.

More of the guards were headed by the same passageway-- followed by quiet pitter-patter and jingling chain rings. They arrived, looking for some volunteers of a 'working party'. Grief consumed her for the moment. "Better not involve the satisfaction of one's urges."

All of the men in her cell had joined. Perhaps they had something alotted in their minds that indicated her senses into joining them-- no matter the work. She brought herself up and followed after the frail man.

This would be the first time they'd get a good look at the dungeon outside their cell. It was built from a long hallway that stretched east and westward, all the walls cut out of the stone around them, as the cell had been. Two large, wooden double-doors mark the very center of the hallway. To the East, a number of cells similar to their own moved in a zig-zag pattern, enough for a few hundred souls. Between each cell stand wooden doors, all closed. To the west, the hallway was mostly the same, but under construction. All but two of the cells in the western direction had no bars, nor prisoners.

The guards bound the group with the rest of the volunteers, then marched them onwards. They stopped at the last two cells, moving through the same process at each cell, and then marched them back to the center of the hallway. Guards guard the doors, armed and armoured in much better equipment than the other guards that have been seen up until this point. They wear full plate, and carry massive swords in their scabbards. Polearms rest on the walls near them, as well.

The doors open with a short exchange between the guards, and the volunteers are continued to be escorted southward, onto a bridge of stone. The bridge is long, and it spans what appears to be a man-made chasm. It's orderly, cut in the shape of a rectangle. The artificial chasm is deep enough that darkness covers and hides the ground, giving question to it's true depth.

Through another door much like the last, the group would find themselves at the entrance of the mines. The door is shut and barred behind the group, the guards that escorted you leaving before such happened. That done, another few guards approached, undid the bindings, and handed a pick to each of the volunteers, pointing to a the line of volunteers slaving away to chip at the stone.

Tarhun grabbed his pick; strong, and well-built. He had seen stronger, but it would do. He stepped to the closest patch of earth, pushing aside a short, non-human who simply muttered as he walked deeper into the tunnel. With a great strike and a loud roar, he blasted a piece of stone from the wall the size of the guard overlooking the pick distribution. Tarhun straightened his back, glared at the guards, and took a moment to split the stone in half. He grabbed the piece of earth and with great effort, threw the boulder at the table which he imagined the guards had been seated moments before.



"You humans have great sense of safety within your walls." he started, his voice gruff and confident. He searched over the guards' shoulders to look for any kind of weakness in the door.

So now the elf was coming with them too, huh? They weren't usually the mining folk, the elves, but she probably didn't want to be left alone. That was all the sense Travok could make out of it. The cell would be left empty, but if he had to guess that would've been the case anyway. You don't bind up volunteers like that, no sir.

Before the guards got to binding him with the rest of the people, Travok faked a yawn and slipped the crystal back into his mouth for transport. Hopefully the guards would not be too keen on asking extra questions, but they hadn't given the impression. Travok made sure to get a spot as close to the small human as possible, they seemed to know something he didn't.

The beginning of the trip through the dungeon proved him that this was not as small a place as the usual dungeon of a town... they must've transported him quite far. The most impressive piece of stonework there was to be seen was this bridge of theirs... but even that wasn't anything spectacular. Clearly form over function, although why they had had to dig this chasm under it was beyond him.

Finally having made their way to their stop, Travok could've breathed a sigh of relief once the bindings were off if that wouldn't have dropped the focus onto the floor again. He'd really have to check whether there were pockets on these rags, even if it was quite unlikely. He took the offered pickaxe and stayed close to his new acquaintance while taking a look around him. What kind of stone was this, even? He might know a few tricks if they were to have an actual working shift...

The party is now in combat.
And here it screeches to a halt as we start actually having to wait for everyone to post in order. xD

@Hekazu and @EruditeAssassin, roll initiative. Everyone else, make your posts regarding what you do on your journey to the mine, and then roll initiative.

The rocky construction appalled her. Certainly wasn't designed to feel as though it is home-- but one could at least put some effort in it. That's one of many things that humans have. Uncreativity. 'What Works Best' scenario of often times.

She followed the party along the simple path of the dungeon-- carefully gathering her balance as she passed through the bridge whilst still being bound by her hands until they had arrived to their destination. A sigh of relief escaped her as she found the entrance to the mines rather than a room where the warden sat in.

The mines were guarded by another set of guards who unbinded them and issued well-worn pickaxes as they pushed the others into the other slavers chipping away at the rocks. Whilst being incompetent in the mining works-- she figured this was an opportunity to get some improvised weapons. With her pickaxe in hand, she drove its pointy end sharply into the rock in an attempt to seek a shard sharp enough to be used as an improvised shiv [Strength roll: 10]. Otherwise, she would need to resort to the pickaxe.

(Initiative: 8)

The small cadre of guardsmen gathered up the numerous, bony figures of the prisoners who by and large huddled sheepishly in their cells until summoned by their "masters". A few, more resilient figures amongst them filed in behind, adding more chain and shackle to the ever growing parade of dusty, pale bodies. On a positive note, there was an overwhelming number of sentenced others - which reasonably made blending in less an issue, even for such a pronounced man as himself - but the state's servants further tightened their grasp upon hope as they all bore witness to the collection of well armored, armed and fed men beside the door.

It took not long, some discussion between them both taking place, all of which mattered not to their situation, and soon the grim march began again; some still whimpered, others groaned as they were nearly dragged along, but the beast of a man kept on, no closer than a few intentional paces behind the scaled giant... or at least as much as he could muster with the shackles.

The chasm's depth was impressive, but it begged the obvious question as to why the king and whoever he appointed here deemed this a worthwhile endeavor; there was little reason to assume it was natural, as Branor was familiar enough that wild stone, exposed to the elements, seldom shaped itself like this, even in the depths of the earth. No dwarf was he, but he wasn't a fool either. No matter the reason, they trudged further yet until the guards escorting them were relieved and a new set roused, producing worn, once rough pickaxes and mattocks. Distributing these tools, they seemed to motion the prisoners to begin their work.

Taking the tool's grip into his sizable hands, it reminded him that he was still devoid of his favored weapon, but if things were to turn bloody, at least now he had something. Even a stone would have sufficed before, but this did that far better; at worse it was a crude axe, at best it was the sort of weapon he could imagine a raging orc swinging about with wild but deadly abandon. Certainly not as elegant as sword or bow, but it would get both forms of work done - that they intended it for, and that which was likely about to follow...

The golden dragon's form marched over to the largest stone it could set its stony, vengeful eyes on and let loose a triumphant blow. Not content, it straightened itself and heaved the stone to a rolling halt at the edge of their table, and the men, having just prepared to return to their idle banter, immediately set to conflict and readied their weapons.

"You humans have great sense of safety within your walls." The gruff voice taunted while Branor hefted the tool and looked on in observance, having been approaching where the other miners had set to work at first; the elf nearby seeming to be scrounging through loose stone while he became still.


"Some - I would prefer the outdoors to this." The man uttered under his breath, golden eyes narrowing as his brow fell low over them. Looking to the elf and the dwarf after, he made his stance clear that if his life came on the line, he was ready to strike back; he could only hope they were so brave or foolish as well to do so too.

@darkandstar@EruditeAssassin@Hekazu@VKAllen

The closest guard was up from his seat and drawing his sword almost immediately after the boulder hit the ground. Despite his quick action in doing so, he didn't seem all too hasty to charge in alone. He approached slowly, cautiously, on guard to defend against any attack.

Ends his turn about 15' away, uses his action to ready to attack any of you to approach to inside his range.

Tarhun drops his pick to grasp the other half of the stone; his throw, this time, is on point and is headed straight at the guards chest. Tarhun drops to grasp the pick by it's handle, and readies for a response from the other guards. He notices movement from beside the guards, as the others from his cell start readying for what he only hopes is a retaliation to match his own initiation.