The red-clad woman stepped down into the dimly lit underground portion of the prison, wrinkling her nose as the stale stench of human feces assaulted her senses. The bent figure of the jailor moved ahead of her, his large ring of keys clanking against his hip with each step. The prisoners housed here would most likely never see the light of day again, those not sentenced to death by hanging, but left here to rot in squalid conditions. The end result would likely be the same, perhaps delayed a few years, when some disease or other claimed them.

Rumor had it that the red-clad Lady Dulcena, esteemed member of the High Council, was a powerful sorceress, despite the use of magic being outlawed more than a century ago. But there was also rumor that those that had sought to discredit her had succumbed to unfortunate accidents.

She looked into each cell, pausing at some to study the inhabitant more closely, by-passing others with barely more than a glance. Most were human, though a few of other races were imprisoned here too. She spoke to none of them immediately, but when she had completed her inspection, she had the jailor, aided by two more armed guards, collect those that had caught her attention. 10 in all, each shackled and taken to a room on the level above. Here a single, barred window let in both sunlight and fresh air.

She let that pleasant breeze wash over them for a few long moments. That small taste of the outside world would make it harder to refuse her deal, not that she suspected any of them would.

"I have an offer," she began, eyes sweeping over each of the prisoners before her, not bothering with introductions. "I have a dangerous job ahead, one that I suspect will cost at least a few lives. If you choose to serve me and survive the tasks ahead, you will have earned your freedom. If you decline, then so be it, you will go back to your cell."

She looked directly at one of the prisoners, a human male, and commanded. "Choose."

He hesitated. "What kind of task?" he finally asked, uncertain.

Instead of answering, she waved a hand at one of the guards, who immediately grabbed the man and started dragging him back toward the stairs. "I'll do it! I accept! Please don't send me back down there. Please..." his desperate pleas ignored, still echoing up the stairs when Dulcena looked to the next and repeated "Choose."

He was practically carried from his cell, his feet stumbling and weak. Since being put in this hole, he had come to regret the negligent care he had taken of his body. He was thin, and pale like many of the rest. Shorter than most as well. His ragged hair and beard were too dirty to see the auburn they naturally were, or the gray that was creeping prematurely into his temples. The lack of room to move and near starvation deteriorates everyone down here, but when he was taken up with the others, it was clear that he was in worse condition than most.
That was the most obvious difference between this prisoner and most of the rest being steered upstairs. As they reached the better lighting on the floor above, another difference became apparent. His shackles were not the iron of the rest, but silver, etched with religious symbols.

In the room with the barred window, he got as close as they would let him to the smell of fresh air. The life it gave, from the plants all around, was purer and closer than he had tasted in a long time.

He got the barest taste before he was pulled with the rest into a line. Another man was dragged away for the barest moment’s indecision. He determined not to join him.

When the red woman approached him, the hedge wizard, Rolf White, said “I accept.”

"Good," Dulcena rewarded Rolf White with smile, pleased with his quick response. He was some kind of magic user, if she could judge by the shackles he bore, inscribed with a protective magic to keep him from breaking the lock with his magic. Carelessly flaunting that forbidden skill was probably why he had been imprisoned in the first place, though she did not know the history of many of the prisoners here. It was entirely possible his crime was more sinister, though she had difficulty imagining the physically unimposing man before her had committed atrocities. Looks could be deceiving though.

She held up a key, indicating that he should present his shackles to her. It was symbolic in a way and she had insisted to the jailor that she should be the one to physically release them from their restraints. She unlocked first his left wrist, then the right.

"Stay right here," she commanded, then moved to the next prisoner. "What do you choose?"

The half-orc sat on his cell bed with a small book in his beefy hands however it was not the content of the book that kept his attention but rather what it hid, a necklace with a key attached to it. Though not very loud he could hear commotions from the other cells but ignored it instead continued to inspect the key. What was it’s purpose or what it unlocked was mystery but the last word of it’s previous owner resounded in his head



He quickly rubbed away his tears and stuffed the necklace into the pocket of his prisoner outfit as he heard the swinging cell door.

“Sir Shield. You’ve been called up”

‘Sir my a**’

Sigmar thought lethargically, most jailors here still treated him better then other prisoners due to his previous standing but still he had not push his luck and don’t plan to now so he stood up and walked up to the jailor and offered his wrist

The man once known as the Shield squint his eyes as he was led into the room, unacquainted with the sudden light however his stoic expression broke into one of recognition. While not knowing Lady Dulcena personally, the lady he once served did and on multiple occasion he accompanied her to meet Dulcena. Now his mood became somewhat light-hearted as he heard the voice he had sworn to protect with his life once again



Under his breath he mutters softly as the man beside him made his decision

“I will Lady Celina, I will”

When Lady Dulcena approached he gave a solemn nod as The Disgraced knight, Sigmar Shield responded

“Count me in ma’am”

"I would have expected nothing less," Dulcena replied to the half orc. She knew more of this one than he might suspect. Sigmar Shield, renowned warrior, easily worth ten lesser men on the battle field. Pity that he'd sworn an oath to Lady Celina instead of her, he might not have fallen so far otherwise.

Rumor had it that the two had been lovers, but that Celina had taken another to her bed and Sigmar had killed them both in a fit of rage.

Naught but rumors, of course. Dulcena had started them herself. Half-orcs were notorious for their ill-tempers and though unconfirmed, her spies thought there might be more than a strictly professional relationship between Sigmar and Celina. It covered up the work of her hired assassin easily enough. If only the woman hadn't come before the high council and outright accused Dulcena of sorcery! She'd brought it on herself, really.

Dulcena's features reflected nothing of her thoughts as she unlocked the half-orc's shackles.

She continued down the line, repeating her question to each of the remaining prisoners.

Aeryn Tamis - Monk

---

Light and shadow.

Shadow and light.

This was the world of the blind monk Aeryn Tamis, who for a great time had waited patiently meditating in the prison fortress. The circumstances of his incarceration were suspect-but Aeryn held no grudge for he did not really know who his captors were. There was an attack on his village. That much was clear. A struggle between a great many people. Fighting. Pain. And then Aeryn awoke in chains. It seemed so long ago...

As the months turned to years and Tamis continued his meditation he learned all of the sounds of that filthy prison...

The heavy footsteps of the jailor, the tinkling of his keys. The soft drip of a distant water source. The other prisoners shuffling around the cells. The grunts and curses and oaths of the half-orc two cells distant. The mutterings of the man in the cell across from Aeryn, whose coughs and spasms seemed to grow more fierce as the months wore on. And today- a new voice. Belonging to a woman. Offering something new. Offering hope. Aeryn was taken from his cell with nearly ten others. As he was pulled to his feet the monk could feel the physical deprivation that had besieged his body this past year. Weakness sprinkled his limbs and the power he could have once exerted was simply not there.

Distracted by the sweet smell of fresh air, Aeryn barely heard the others agreement to join this woman-Dulcena. What was she offering? Freedom? Enslavement? Aeryn had no choice. In the darkness of this world, he would embrace whatever light presented itself. He held up the iron shackles that bound his wrists.

"M'lady..." Aeryn rasped. "I accept the fate you have laid before me. How may I serve?"

The dungeon was unlike any prison he'd spent time in, and he had the misfortune of visiting a few in his travels as a sellsword. Kayden was disheveled and dirty, but he supposed he should just thank the Gods he was alive and merely imprisoned. At least for now, he thought to himself. Fingering the ring on his opposite hand idly, he leaned against the wall and had nearly fallen asleep when he heard the scream echoed across the stone.

He jolted awake, and peered through the bars of his cage as the man was hauled off. The disguised prince almost couldn't believe his eyes when he saw who walked along the cages. He knew of Dulcena, and had heard more than a few unsettling rumors of the admittedly comely woman. He watched with interest as various figures agreed to accompany her on whatever mission she was asking for.

When she approached him, he sighed and stood up, brushing himself off and meeting her gaze. "If it gets me out of here, I'll do whatever you need." He said, fingers intertwined in his lined leather belt. "I accept." His voice was strong, showing his resolve had not been tempered with time in this dark dungeon.

Rolf's spirits were lifted a great deal already. With the shackles gone, and the fresh green air(however little of it he could get here) filling his lungs, he could feel the barest hint of power returning.

When the woman was a few people down the line, he nudged the enormous half-orc next to him and murmured, "Hey, d'ya think she brought that first guy in just so she could prove how ruthless she is?"

Dulcena let a glimmer of surprise overtake her purposefully blank expression when she saw the monk was blind. When she had observed him in his cell, he had been meditating, eyes closed. She recovered her composure quickly enough and contemplated sending him back, unsure of his worth to her needs, but pushed back the idea immediately. No good would come from revealing she may have made a mistake. "I will tell you all soon enough," she replied to his question and she unlocked his shackles, discarding them on the floor.

Next was the sellsword. There was an air of arrogance to him that she found disconcerting and dangerous, but reminded herself that dangerous men, bent to her purposes, were required. Still, she felt his handling might perhaps need to be different than the others to keep his loyalty for long and she let her eyes linger on him as she unlocked his shackles, silently suggesting that she may have more than one use for him.

She continued down the line. All of the remaining 5 accepted, willing to risk their lives in exchange for the promise of freedom.

"Two carriages await you outside and will bring you to my home where you can wash and eat before we discuss specifics." She gestured toward the front of the prison. "Until then," she turned and left, having arranged a private carriage for herself. You never knew, of course, but she believed none would attempt to flee without fulfilling their obligation to her.

Sigmar released a hot breath he didn't realize he held as his shackles was unlocked.

'This is just an illusion of freedom, just a taste but still better then nothing'

Cautiously,so as to not alarm the guard he stretch his arms upward, tensing his muscles while discreetly taking notes of the other prisoners

The feeble man before him had him slightly conflicted. It was pretty clear he was a mage or magic user of sorts however the type of magic he possibly wield perked his interest but decide not to begin the interaction first.

The man after the blind monk however ticked him off for some reason perhaps it was the sense of resolve which was perceived as smugness. Regardless he decided to not allow that to distract him from doing his job

Once nudged he would merely shrugged, shifting his gaze towards the man beside him and responded "Does it matter?". Punctuating his response with a lighthearted chuckle he continued "the name's Shield, you?" Clearly showing his desire to befriend the magic user

Walking out of the Prison he felt a rather odd sense of loss, like moving out of a beloved house. With a quick cough he would walk beside, Rolf. Helping clearly the physically weakest in the group, should he need assistance

Kayden had commanded fighting men before not months ago. As the woman opened his cage, he inspected his allies and drew up a few conclusions of his own. Mostly that it was a far more unique bunch than he was used to, which was saying something. He often allowed anyone into his free company, no matter their nationality. As long as they were loyal and did the work.

Then Dulcena held out her hands to unshackle him, and he held out his wrists in turn for her to do so. The look she gave him was something he hadn't expected, but there was a glint in his eyes as his gaze met hers. It wasn't an unwelcome prospect, and his days spent in the dungeon had been incredibly dry. Apart of him counseled against it, mostly because of the rumors surrounding her. But he often ignored such things. What was wrong with a bit of danger?

Rubbing his wrists, he gave Dulcena a wink and a bow, before catching up with the rest of the group. "I think it matters to the man," Kayden pipped in casually as he fell in beside the others. He shrugged. "But I suppose all we can do is care about our own fortunes, eh?"

Kayden hopped into one of the carriages, almost perturbed to sit inside a small enclosed space again. But if it led to food and a good rest, along with perhaps a bath...

Bergoda couldn't see anything, the brown sackcloth bag tied around her head enveloping her in total darkness and muffling the meager sounds of woe that had been her lullaby these past eight years. She'd take it off, were it not for the fact that her arms where strung up to the ceiling by cold iron chains. These measures were on account of her little indiscretion earlier in the week, which really wasn't her fault anyway. Charley had been working here for how long? He'd been here when she'd arrived. He should have known better than to turn his back on her cell, no matter how weak and decrepit her body looked or how securely he thought the manacles held her. He'd been asking for it.

Gods, that ear had been the sweetest thing she'd tasted in a long time. It was the little things like that, the defiances, that kept life worth living in here. Little cruelties that kept Bergoda the Eel, queen of the Crimson River, warm at night. Kept the fire going in her. Kept her from turning back into weak old Bergoda the dock urchin. Kept the treasure out of the Baron Rustmore's hands until he and his house wasted away to nothing expecting it to deliver them.

That was when something new entered the cellblock. A slight smell hidden under all the muck. Perfume. She listed, could hear the familiar shuffling gait of Fenster and the unheard of but distinct tapping of posh women's shoes on the stones. She smiled. "Fenster, ya dirty ol' bastard!" She called out jovially to the jailer as she heard the steps passing her cell. "Finally got up the stones to step out on yer wife, eh? Gods, how much ya save up for a high class bird like this? Lady, no matter how much he pays ya it ain't worth it! He's a freak, that one! I got the scars to prove it, hahahahahahahaha!"

She didn't hear the footsteps momentarily stop over the sound of her own laughter. By the time she was done, they'd continued down the hall.

---

She was jerked roughly from her cell and led out some time later, up a flight of stairs, and had the bag ripped off her head. The face reveled could be said to possess a certain rugged charm by a well intentioned liar. What could have once been a handsome young woman had been warped by time and trial into the sort of face that wouldn't look out of place skulking halfway out of the waters of a bog, mentally separating everything it observed into two boxes labeled "potential food" and "not worth my damn time."

Lady Dulcena definitely fell into the "potential food" category. Dangerous food, she could tell that right away. She wasn't the normal sort of rich poncy twit that decided to take a spirited pleasure cruise down the Crimson River and maybe give those pirates what for while they were at it. She had that look in her eye like the Baron had, the sort of old school noble who got where they were by being ruthless and smart and really, really, really good at slitting throats if the need arose. She'd made the mistake of confusing the two once. She was lucky enough that she had the opportunity to apply what she'd learned.

"Bergoda the Eel at yer service, m'lady." She said, doing her best impression of a curtsy with her shackled hands and the tattered remains of what might have been a potato sack some time in the distant past. She felt her wrists slip free of the binding and took a moment to stretch out in the sunlight that poured through the window and enjoy the sight of one of the guard in the room, less one ear, quaking in what was either terror or rage. Probably both. She waved back at them as she stumbled toward the carriages. "Bye Bye Charley. Hector. Fenster. Swear on me pop pop I'll never forget out times together. Swear on it."

“Rolf,” he answered to the big man, Shield. They made their way out, no more stairs as they were already on the ground floor. Just as promised, there were two carriages waiting for them. Rolf got in one, along with Shield, the blind man, a rough looking fellow and a woman who called herself The Eel.

Their combined smell quickly filled the carriage as the doors closed, and Rolf opened the curtain next to him to try to let fresh air in.

“Ya think we're allowed to wonder what kind of job it is now?”

The carriages did not take long to transport the prisoners to a nicer part of the city and were soon pulling up beside an odd, but magnificent house.



"In 'ere." An old plump woman with a worn, but well cared for brown dress and apron stood at the top of steps that seemed to lead down into a cellar. She waved at them, apparently expecting them. "I ain't to let you into the main house until I clean you up a bit." Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff, the scent confirming her orders. "Shoulda dunked you all in a horse trough before she let you into the carriages anyways. Woulda been an improvement. I'll be scrubbin' 'em for a month to get the smell out!" She shook her head sadly, as if imagining all the work they had just caused her.

"Down there." She said, pointing to the cellar entrance. "Got some hot water ready already, but you will have to take turns."

“Better a month of scrubbing a smelly carriage than a month where we've been. Show me all of the soap you have, for once I’d prefer to smell like some kind of fancy man.”

Rolf walked across, deliberately deviating from the paved path so that he stepped through the grass. With every step he seemed livelier, though his footsteps were a little browner than they had been.

He allowed himself to be led into the cellar, and was almost surprised to find that there was in fact hot water in a tub. Quite hot indeed, it steamed the air in the immediate area. With very little regard for modesty, Rolf stripped his meager clothes and plunged into the tub. He almost immediately dunked his head and scrubbed at his scalp, reaching off to the side where he'd seen a bar of soap.

Soon he was being rushed out so someone else could take their turn. He dried himself, and wrung out his hair, running his fingers through it to get the worst of the tangles out. He felt scoured and raw, but in a strangely good way. If he was going to be unwashed, he had his own preferences for what exactly he was dirty with, and now he could start from scratch.

Water. Sweet lord, mother of all life, thank the gods for water. Thank the Gods for warm, soapy water and the fat old women of the world who prepared it. Put a couple of young attractive men in here with her and it would be exactly like the old days, her and the boys pulling in to a town of ill repute to spend hard earned loot on drinks, food, and pleasurable company.

Those days were far behind her now, of course. Her sweet good boys were probably all dead, and as she scrubbed the stink of eight years off her body she was struck for the first time with how bony it'd gotten during her confinement. There was still muscle there, a core that had been built over years of ships work and wet work, that she had manged to hold on to mostly through sheer bloody minded spite. It was still nothing like she had been in her prime. She felt it hang loose, and it bunched up uncomfortable as she scrubbed up and down her arms. She wondered if this is how her pop pop had felt when he realized he was getting old.

She dunked her head and started working on her hair. None of it came out in her hands, fortunately.

Oh well. "Fear an old man in a young mans game," as her old pop pop used to say.

---

She came out of the tub feeling refreshed and light on her feet. She bounced experimentally back and forth to test the spring in her step and stopped only as her stomach started to growl, triggered by this unusual burst of movement. She hoped Dulcena was one of those exercise nuts with a private gymnasium, but even if she wasn't Bergoda felt like she could get back in good shape. Not quite as good as her old shape, but a good one.

There was a simple grey shirt and pair of trousers provided which she threw on as soon as she was dry and headed back up onto the lawn. "Oi, boys." she called out to the crew she'd be working with. "Next one up." She said, walking past them and over to the newly clean boy, Rolf.

"Cheeky boy, cuttin' in front of a old lady on the way to the bath. Weren't you raised with no manners?" She said jovially before sticking out a hand. "Rolf, right? Heard you introduce yourself to the big guy. Bergoda's the name. Probably heard me introduce myself to the Lady, but I figured I'd be polite about it and all seein' as we're crew-mates now."

Kayden stepped past the dripping, recently dressed Bergoda and headed into the quaint little room where the bath was held. The walls were stone and the roof was wooden, probably because the room was mainly used for storage below. Being in the castle proper would have led to every inch being made of stone. Only pragmatic and defensible that way.

He had dearly hoped that new water would be drawn for each bath, and to his delight he was correct. Not that he cared too much, at least not as much as his old self. The younger Prince Kayden would have scoffed at the very notion of getting himself unnecessarily dirty, but after having led sellswords for a few years, he did what he had to, when he had to.

The water was warm and the soap was real, and he made sure to scrub every inch of himself. The dungeon had been dark, grimey, and grim. He washed all of that away, and when he emerged from the tub he was clean in mind and body. Placing on leather trousers and a linen shirt that made him look more like a fit, handsome young farmer rather than the dashing adventurer he was, he set off up the stairs. He stopped beside the group, still rubbing his thick hair with a cloth. "Who's next lads?"

Rolf was across the lawn, facing an attractive elm tree, his back to the others. Clean, in newer clothes and inexplicably rejuvenated, Rolf looked almost as if he had never been a prisoner. He had also completely forgotten his promise to himself to take better care of his natural body.

When Bergoda approached, he suddenly dropped a jagged rock he had been holding and faced her, his body half concealing a series of lines and shapes he had been carving in the tree.

“Aye, Rolf,” where Bergoda had an urban accent, Rolf’s speech was more telling of the countryside. “I thought I heard you introduce yourself as an eel, but now that the prison’s been scrubbed off, I see that y’are a lady after all.”

Once the 9th had completed his bath, the old woman ushered them into the main part of the small castle through a servant's entrance and into a narrow hallway. Smells of freshly baked bread wafted toward them and a few moments later, they emerged into kitchen where a meal awaited them, laid out on a table that seemed to probably be where the servant's usually ate.

The red clad Lady Dulcena was already seated and gestured for them to come join her. The meal itself was nothing extremely fancy, but there was plenty of both food and drink. "You certainly smell and look better. Come eat before we discuss why you are here."

Zarwin just came up from the basement stairs. He was brought in from one of the rural jails in the countryside. He was well built from his work on the farms and pulling the great bow. He was a little awed by seeing the other warriors and the Lady.

He made a clumsy bow towards Dulcena and said, "I'm sorry I'm late. They just barely brought me here. They said to bath and come up as fast as I could." He was embarrassed but found a place towards the back to lean against the wall and try to figure out what is going on.