[PF-1e] Prison Colony Krakengard - The Daylight War

[Inem]

Originally Posted by ManicMonky

I've been meaning to ask this question for a while now, but kept forgetting to actually do so.

Since Daylight is a spell that's being restricted in this game setting, if a Race/Class is granted it as a spell like ability, will there be a possibility of substituting a different spell of comparable level, or will it just be a lost feature of that Race/Class?

I don't feel like it will really impact my character for the most part, but was curious on your thoughts.

Aasimar already get several alternate racial traits that they can use to swap out the daylight spell like ability. While I'm not firmly set on not allowing other options, I'd need to be given a pretty good reason why none of those options are appropriate.
I'm not aware of any other races that get daylight off hand, if there is I would decide this on a case by case basis.

Originally Posted by RacesWild

I think daylight is actually restricted to a feat now in the pathfinder books. I think it is restricted to those who can turn/rebuke undead specifically

I am...also not sure where you are getting this from?

[ManicMonky]

Fair enough. I will look over the alt traits more if my character is selected.

[Thorsten]

Posting interest.

Need to figure out a concept. Will probably make a character that refers to himself in third person. Possibly canine or reptilian if I can figure out something that fits. Goblin. Definitely a goblin.

Lumlush Lushlum Name: Lumlush Lushlum Gender: Male... probably Race: Goblin Class: Alchemist (possibly Fire Bomber or Vivisectionist) Appearance: Filthy and ragged. And filthy. Personality: Shrewd and slightly insane, Lumlush Lushlum is all the things that characterize a goblin and then some. He is greedy, capricious, and destructive by nature, and he makes no effort to hide this. He is also sarcastic and witty, though usually at the behest of someone else, and far more curious than what is good for him. Whether by choice or a faulty tutor of the common tongue, Lumlush (Lum among Not-enemies) refers to himself in the third person narrative, which, to some, can be somewhat of a hurdle when trying to communicate with the wretched creature. Background:   Goblin children are pretty self-sufficient from a rather early age. After a short time of nursing, they are basically left to their own devices and treated like pets to the tribe. They sleep in cages, are kept on a leash if unruly and eat from the ground or from bowls or plates filled with scraps casually tossed their way. Lumlush wasn't much different. He was somewhere around the middle of a group of goblin pups, neither stronger nor faster than any other runtling that darted about on all fours. But when the time came for mind to take precedence over body, he suddenly showed renewed purpose. To goblins, natural selection is just how life is. The weak die and the strong live on. And so it was with Lumlush as well. Even though he was far from the most capable hunter or gatherer, far from the strongest warrior or must cunning archer, Lumlush somehow managed to rise to the forefront of his peers. He would outwit those stronger than him, outpace those smarter than him and, in one particular case, eat those hungrier than him. Lumlush wanted to be number one, and if life didn't place you at the top of the proverbial hill in the first place, then you only had to remove those who were to automatically get bumped up the line. Unfortunately, goblins are further down the hill of races than many larger and meaner groups, and so Lumlush' bid for power and tribal dominance was cut short when the tribe simply stopped existing. Brutish warriors with large weapons and even larger bloodlust tore through Lumlush' tribe in a matter of minutes, torching huts, skewering goblins and trampling any idea Lumlush ever had of becoming top of that particular midden heap. Lumlush, as any other sane goblin would, quickly cut ties with a lost cause and a lost tribe and scampered for safety, running until he finally collapsed at the edge of a human settlement in the early hours of the morning. Here he lived among the trash, eating whatever food the humans discarded and hoarding whatever treasures could be found in their garbage. His favorite spot to sit and gobble up his meals was the rickety roof of an abandoned building across from a journeyman alchemist. From there, the goblin could watch the man at work, delighting in the fwooshs and whoomps that originated from the many strange apparatuses inside the alchemists home. Occasionally the journeyman would dump out the remnants of his failed experiments, and those days would see Lumlush clawing through the trash in an effort to study the slags and remains of molten glass or weird smelly concoctions. With time Lumlush even amassed enough broken and discarded equipment to create his own facsimile workshop across the road and on the roof. When the alchemist was out, Lumlush would sneak in and pilfer small amounts of the strange powders inside, storing them in cracked jars and moldy wooden boxes. And come evening he would then watch the journeyman experiment and mimic his actions, without any precise knowledge as to what he was mixing or what potential effect it might have. More than once, Lumlush all but killed himself as his mimicking produced some dangerous liquid or pungent smoke that sent the goblin scampering for cover. Once he accidentally melted a hole in the roof of the house he was sitting on, and on another occasion he brewed up something so foul smelling that it had humans from the entire street running for their lives only to return and blame the alchemist afterward when the cause of the stench was found among his trash. And once, just once, Lumlush made something explode. The goblin had been mixing strange substances into cracked vials as usual, trying to identify the powders and liquids the alchemist was using from across the street, when he accidentally knocked over one of his jars, tumbling its contents into the mix. The entire concoction had begun pulsing with a disturbing color and giving off a strange hissing sound. Lumlush, his instincts for survival kicking in, grabbed the vial and hurled it with all his might across the street. As the goblin watched it sail through the air the contents inside seemed to expand and light up. Then the vial had bloomed into a fiery explosion that saw the corner of the alchemists shop disappear, and then all hell broke loose. The explosion set off a chain reaction of alchemical components, and as Lumlush watched from his roof, a myriad of secondary explosion, some followed by color and smoke, others leaving an acrid stench of sulfur and acid, went off and obliterated the house as well as the man inside it. In one fell blow, Lumlush had destroyed not only his unknowing tutor, but also his steady supply of substances to experiment with. Had Lumlush been able to feel guilt, he might have shed a tear at this cruel end to his studies - instead he just felt oddly hollow for about a day and a half. Then he began searching for other things to blow up. Strangely, though Lumlush applied his newfound desire to see things explode on several occasions and indulged in the goblin desire to see a fire bloom on many other, it was not that which brought him to the attention of the authorities. Instead Lumlush Lushlum was caught, red handed, pilfering food from a food cart. A minor crime in the bigger picture, but from an unwanted presence such as the filthy goblin, enough to warrant an indefinite vacation at Krakengard Prison. Roleplay sample:   Fire. Fire was so pretty to look at. The way it ate everything in its path. Roared and warmed and smoked. Lumlush loved fire. He loved playing with fire. He even sometimes loved when fire played with him. But most he loved to watch it. It was as if it warmed more than just his flesh and bones - whenever Lumlush would look into a fire, he felt like his very soul and innermost being was kindled. It was a sensation that tickled Lumlush all the right places and he relished it. Presently the goblin was warming himself while looking at a burning building. The fire had begun a quarter of an hour ago, and had long since reached the point of no return. Thatch and timber was ablaze, a roaring crescendo of bright light and hot flame that rose into the air. Long, curling fingers of black smoke stretched upwards, clawing at the sky. It was enough to make Lumlush almost giddy with joy. Of course the flames weren't the only sound to be heard. There was the usual tumult - people running, screaming, swearing and yelling. Sweat and tears flowed alongside the water from the village well in the effort to prevent the inevitable. Lumlush giggled. Silly morons. They would be better of pulling back and allowing the flames free reign. Better of relaxing and enjoying the warmth just like he was. Lumlush jumped off of his perch atop a low wall and quickly adjusted his treasured pouch, making sure the box with tindertwigs hadn't fallen out or was somehow visible. Then he picked up his sharpened stick and slinked through the crowd of people and approached the roaring inferno. Up close it was hotter than Lumlush imagined even the sun might be. He gritted his teeth into a smile, relishing the sensation of the heat as it washed over his unwashed body as he dug into a different pouch before pulling out the mangled corpse of a fat, dead rat. With deft hands he skewered the rat and then sank into a crouch mere meters from the burning house and started roasting his evening meal while the humans ran about in their fool's errand. Bonus :   Tullius. A large man with a larger paunch. Despite his impressive size he is a coward at heart. Tullius was a former cook in the Kingdom's armies, enjoying all the privileges that came from serving the officers and nobility in camp. But when a lack of men forced the camp-following to fight among the rank and files during the battle for Turran Hill, Tullius decided that his hide was worth infinitely more than that of his fellow man, and fled the field in order to save himself. Unfortunately the kingdom won the battle, and Tullius was caught two days later, sleeping in a farmer's outhouse. He now resides within the prison where he continues his duties as a cook, carrying the word 'Deserter' tattooed on his forehead to inform every one what he has done to deserve punishment.

[Fon]

@Thorsten
You could have picked a kobold too. Then we could be kobold-buddies! lol

[Tein]

Name: Inavira Millbridge
Gender: Female
Race: Halfling
Class: Cleric (Cloistered)
Deity: Azathoth
Charges: Sedition, Arson, Theft of Government Property, Association with Heretical Entities (Unproven)

Appearance: About 2 feet 10 inches tall, Inavira is a plain looking halfling in her mid 30s. Her hair is black and she has fair skin. On the surface she appears extremely non-descript, and only the slightly unhinged spark in her eyes and the overenthusiasm of her smile belay that there is more to her. She dresses very plainly, both from a lack of caring and not wanting to draw the law's attention to her.

 

 

Most of Inavira's young life was normal for a halfling. She was born into a big, close family in the city of Tinebdar, and while they were fairly poor her parents made sure she was always well provided for.

Inavira was a very inquisitive girl, and she managed to teach herself how to read and write at a young age. It was also during her childhood that she met Pannan, the halfling she would eventually marry. Pannan was another halfling from her neighborhood, athletic where she was studious, brash and confident where she was withdrawn. They fell in love as teenagers, and were married as soon as they were old enough.

After some difficulty, Inavira managed to parlay her self taught skills into a job as a clerk while Pannan hauled boxes at the local dock. Neither made much money but they got by, until the Kingdom went to war.

As a young fit halfling Pannan was conscripted almost immediately, and Inavira was left alone. She kept a stiff upper lip for as long as she could, plugging away at her job like she always had and trusting things to work out. Three months later a letter was silently delivered to her door saying her husband had died.

Something broke in Inavira that day. The life she had managed to scrape out for herself had been destroyed, and the government and leaders and rich folk who had always loomed over her were directly to blame. She cast about to some form of solace. She tried turning to Gods, but they had all been co-opted by the type of people who had taken Pannan from her. It was only after these avenues were exhausted that Inavira recalled some old tales she's read when she was devouring literature at a young age. Tales of beings older than the Gods, similar but different, born of chaos. She dove into the libraries of Tinebdar looking for more information, and she found it. Azathoth, the Daemon Sultan, the Blind Idiot God. He was chaos, he was madness, he was irrationality, and nothing spoke more to Inavira at the time than that.

She devoted herself to this new god, and when she began to be able to channel divine power through him she was emboldened. The tentative scholar was long gone, replaced with a fiery angry woman acting with no sense of self-preservation. Tinebdar had been hit hard by the war, and when she began whispering that the Kingdom had to be torn down and that people had to stop listening to those above them, there were many open ears. A small movement started in the city, and their acts of arson and theft of government property became increasingly common. While no one was killed the movement was growing rapidly and the financial cost was growing even faster. One day when she was leading an impromptu rally, the city guard descended on Inavira and her followers. Inavira gave some paltry resistance, but she expressed little concern when she was captured. The trappings of order and law could be torn down anywhere, and what better place to sow chaos than the nation's most notorious prison?

Personality: Inavira is fairly insane at this point. She is not completely gone: she is still capable of some sort of empathy and when she was organizing Azathoth's followers she could act rationally, but she has no sense of self-preservation, her devotion to chaos is fanatical, and her belief that the world is inherently mad is reflected in her actions. A few vestiges of the quiet scholar still remain. Inavira is still an extremely curious person, always looking for a chance to understand her surroundings or her world better. She is certainly no longer timid though, that side of her having been burned away with the death of Pannan. She not only believes in spreading chaos and tearing down the institutions of the kingdom, she is actually very confident about it. She'll tell anyone who will listen, and has become a pretty good missionary of Azathoth's faith.

Inavira is not overly concerned with escaping, at least not initially. The world is insane, and thus she will not make plans and allow chaos to take her where it will. While she may not care much if she escapes or not, Inavira does see her internment as an excellent opportunity to spread some disorder in a very orderly place and to attack the leadership she so detests somewhere that is very important to them.

Roleplay Sample: "And you let them! And why? Because they have the soldiers? You are the soldiers! Because they have the weapons? You make the weapons! Because they have the food? You grow the food!" Inavira was practically frothing at the mouth, but the crowd of about 40 people in front of was just as riled up. It was the largest crowd she'd had and she felt a sense of ecstasy at the energy currently flowing between them. Her anger and passion was becoming there's and nothing felt better. Their location was risky, Inavira was standing on a crate just on the edge of the market square, but there was no better way to get to this many people at once

"We must refuse to cooperate. We must not bow to them just because our mothers and fathers did. Their promises are empty, their order nothing but a leech, sucking away everything we ever work for." Out of the corner of her eye Inavira saw a half dozen guards marching quickly towards her, shoving their way through the crowd. Roparzh grabbed her shoulder. "Inavira, we need to go." She ignored him and instead smiled broadly. "Looks like we've frightened them!" She cackled to the crowd. At that the guards suddenly surged forward toward Inavira. Roparzh tried to forcibly drag her away, but Inavira stood firm. "No don't you see? Of course this is happening. We planned. We never should have planned." The tall man looked at her, his face showing both confusion and a hint of betrayal. "What are you talking about we need to-" a spear haft slammed into his temple. Mailed hands grabbed Inavira and she laughed again. Truly Azathoth worked in mysterious ways.

Extra Credit: The cult of Azathoth that begun in Tenebdar didn't really have any leadership, as benefitted an organization lionizing chaos, but if one person's influence rivalled Inavira it was Roparzh. As practical as she was ideological, the young man who'd grown up an orphan before being conscripted and lost an arm in the war was one of the few people who could be said to have hated the Kingdom's government with an intensity rivalling Inavira's. He never really bought into the spiritual side of the cult, but he wanted an avenue to fight the state, and Azathoth seemed like his best bet. He handled most of the practical matters involved with waging a campaign against the powerful in Tenebdar, letting Inavira get people into the door and work them into frenzy. Their system worked fairly well, until the city's government finally decided to eliminate them. Roparzh was caught while trying to get Inavira to flee, and in his mind she finally succumbed there to the madness she had always toyed with.

He is being taken to same prison as her, but he would like nothing better than to never see the halfling again. He see's her as a dangerous madwoman, who by not saving herself abandoned her movement and perhaps had never truly cared about the people she led. Roparzh desperately wants to escape Krakengard and return to Tenebdar and his fight.

[Thorsten]

Originally Posted by Fon

@Thorsten
You could have picked a kobold too. Then we could be kobold-buddies! lol

Lum can be your kobold-buddy, sure as sure

[Fon]

@Tein
Less than a week till the deadline, you'll have to hurry!

@Thorsten
Um, well, close enough. lol

[aerondor]

Well, much as I was looking forward to swapping the roles of my main and NPC characters around, I've found myself shot on time to do it. That probably means that I'd be short on time to play them as well.

Unfortunately that means I'm going to have to withdraw.

This looks like a totally awesome game though, and I'm gutted to be pulling out.

[RacesWild]

I may have been looking at something else. My mistake.

[Nomadic druid]

Rhett GreenHammer

Portrait of an Innocent Dwarf Inmate ID:239640904 Race: Dwarf Gender: Male Approx. Age:   Description Standing straight, Rhett still managed to hold onto his dignity and pride. His clothing still seemed in good repair despite being filthy. Locked in solitary for the past two months was not a forgiving experience and his stench belied the haste they removed him without even a bath. His dark hair clung to his shirt, greasy and matted with dirt. Forced to squint at the brightness of the light, Rhett's hands remain clenched fists at his sides resisting the urge to show weakness. Physically toned from the efforts he spent exercising only emphasize the hardness of his dedication. Lean for a dwarf, whether naturally for his build or due to poor nutrition in jail, his muscular arms flexed with the stress and tension. Tattoos that seemed to move as he flexed only further emphasized his toned physique by giving his skin the appearance of woven metal threads.   WIP

 

What do you do with a drunken Irishman? Inmate ID: 176182359 Name: Patrik McGibbons Race: Human Reason for Incarceration: Public Intoxication (7th offense), Assault (9 counts., 5th offense), Possession of government property: ore (3 Counts), Resisting arrest (5 counts), Assault on a representative of the Crown (6 counts), Illegal gambling Incident Report: Patrik Mcgibbons is a known fighter in the poorer districts of Barowston, a working peasantry class neighborhood. On the evening of the 17th, officers were called with urgency over a fight breaking out in a bar. Witnesses identified McGibbons as the sole assailant that severely injured many regulars, including knocking unconscious 5 and breaking limbs of at least 3. The bartender said he'd paid for all his alcohol, which had been substantial, and that oddly enough he wasn't he one who broke any of the furniture in the bar. However, the suspect did harass and goad the other bar patrons when apparently one of them lost a bet over throwing darts. The suspect claims everything was in self defense, but no witnesses could offer a convincing account of events to justify how one individual managed to injure so many other victims without sustaining an injury themselves without it being a blatant and unprovoked assault on unsuspecting innocents. Witnesses describe McGibbons as having disarmed a broken barstool from one attacker, ripped it into two club-like portions and then began fighting with both sticks simultaneously. By the time the guard arrived McGibbons was already outside of the bar and leaving the scene. When the first guard reached out to grab his shoulder, Mcgibbons then turned and attacked the guard. Catching him by surprise, the guard was quickly knocked unconscious with a strike to his head. The other guards who were responding to the scene saw what had happened and attempted to restrain McGibbons. This resulted in an altercation that left several more guards injured and McGibbons pinned down by the press of superior numbers physically restraining him. Upon processing for intake McGibbons was found to be in possession of contraband substances within the kingdom. He was in possession of raw mineral ore from the Colony Krakenguard. Disavowing any knowledge of it, he claimed he picked it up from one of the victims of his assault in the bar. He claimed ownership of it through earnings gambling despite being reminded that gambling was expressly forbidden in the Kings lands where he was at. His hometown was undetermined due to a lack of background information or identifying paperwork. Few witnesses had seen McGibbons prior to the incident in question. Case addendum: An incident occurred in the jailhouse after McGibbons had already been taken into custody. He awoke from his alcoholic induced slumber in the middle of the night crying out for his pants. It is noted for the record that at the time of his in-take, McGibbons was indeed wearing pants. During the night he claimed the pants he was wearing weren't his and that he demanded his pants back. When the on-duty jailer attempted to quiet McGibbons and see to his needs, the suspect struck the jailer through the bars and attempted to make an escape by holding the jailer ransom for keys.This charge of assault is also included in his list of summary charges.

[Inem]

Alright, table of applicants in the second post updated with the newest entrants. Everyone should probably also double check I've set their status to "complete", and if not either check whether you've forgotten something or ask me.

FIVE days until the deadline people. Even though I'm already going to have my hands full going through all those applications, I've got my fingers crossed that the ones that are still incomplete will get done in time as well. I'd hate to see someone lose out on account of not being done...

Originally Posted by Thorsten

Posting interest.

Need to figure out a concept. Will probably make a character that refers to himself in third person. Possibly canine or reptilian if I can figure out something that fits. Goblin. Definitely a goblin.

Hey there Thorsten, glad to see you apply. Your initial concept definitely looks intriguing and I find myself being very amused by the name. Looking forward to reading the entire application

Originally Posted by aerondor

Well, much as I was looking forward to swapping the roles of my main and NPC characters around, I've found myself shot on time to do it. That probably means that I'd be short on time to play them as well.

Unfortunately that means I'm going to have to withdraw.

This looks like a totally awesome game though, and I'm gutted to be pulling out.

Sorry to see you go, but thanks for making this call ahead of time, and not after the players are picked. I know it's hard to admit you don't have time for a new game, so I appreciate it

[FoggyKnight]

Name: Marra Silence
Gender: Female
Race: Halfling
Class: Oracle

Appearance::
Marra is a shrub in the forest of humanity that surrounds her. Her body language is far bigger than that of her child-like frame and her body is tense as a hair trigger, like a terrier afraid of being sat on by mastiffs. Her calloused hands are expressive, jabbing the air violently or caressing it as her mood changes.

Prisoner clothing in dull browns and grays two sizes too large drape across an undernourished Halfling frame, rolled up many times and patched so often that the original color is nearly unrecognizable. Her black hair has been roughly hacked to her shoulders and every so often Marra’s head tics in a way that suggests it happened recently. Crooked white teeth hide themselves behind oft-bitten lips in closed smiles that don't reach her wary eyes.

Personality:
Marra’s inability to speak is an isolating factor in her life. The sad fact is that most people that meet her lack the patience or interest to learn what her strange gestures mean, and she often finds herself giving up in frustration, unable to get a word in edgewise. Animals, on the other hand, are equally mute to many humanoids and “speak” in similar fashion with their body language and find Marra is attentive to what they have to convey and enjoys working with them.

No friends to bullies, Marra roots for underdogs. Halflings carry long memories when it comes to dealing with those that try and pick on smaller people due to their size and weaker frames, and Marra has occasionally used the ignorance of those that believe a mute cannot tell secrets to blackmail or embarrass bullies into ceasing their behavior.

Marra is angry and bitter at the kingdom for throwing her into a cesspool of murderers and cutthroats for the minor crime of trying to steal food to eat. Terrified of the inmates, she is desperate to get out of the prison before one of these caged animals decides to gut her or do something worse.

 

The Silence family came to the city of Dunsmore under cover of nightfall. Rumors abounded when it was discovered that the baby girl had had her tongue cut from her mouth, but her parents were equally mute and as unwilling to write down what happened to them as they were unable to speak. The community supposed that the family had escaped ill luck and hardship and took them in as refugees.

Growing up, Marra was treated as any normal child, teaching her family's hand language to her friends to communicate. Her father worked as a dock worker and her mother sold cloth she had woven herself. In her free time, Marra was taught by a local scribe, Genta, how to read and write. Genta also taught her a smattering of different subjects that he had come across. A former adventurer, he had learned a lot about different subjects in his travels. Marra enjoyed her time with Genta, finding a love for knowledge within her.

Then the war started. With their natural skills at stealth and proximity to the docks in the city, the halfling community became known in the gray and black markets as a place to find goods that were unavailable anywhere else, lawmen came to the community to investigate. Many human nobles had become wealthy and influential upon the goods that were now in demand, and applied pressure to the law enforcement units to find the people undercutting them. Despite their care, Marra's father's crew were caught by a navy ship and the crew were imprisoned.

While the community tried to rally around the families that were affected by this, it had been hit hard by the loss of the menfolk to inscriptions into the army and navy. Many families began moving out of the city, hoping to find places elsewhere. Marra was forced to turn to increasingly desperate lines of work in the human city in order to feed herself and her mother as her string of employers left.

Her life took a turn for the worse when she attempted to break into a human bakery for a loaf of bread. Her starved frame was able to fit into the small window, but she hadn't realized that the baker had paid for arcane wards to trap thieves trying to steal his goods. Who traps bread?!

Her trial was a swift one. Having been frozen in the act, Marra couldn't create a strong enough defense to get off. The Kingdom at this point was at a desperate crossroads in the war: they were on the losing side. Only ore coming from the feared prison of Krakengard could still turn the tide and the kingdom needed increasing amounts of the ore to create weapons. Despite the relative harmlessness of her crimes, the judge was under pressure to make a quota of prisoners and ruled that under the circumstances, she was high risk to commit crimes again.

 

Marra’s fists still trembled in her lap and she stilled them with force of effort, biting her lips until the acrid tang of blood seeped into her mouth. Her throat and lungs felt like they were burning as she panted for air in short gasps. Only when she was breathing hard did she hear noises emanating from her mouth. As they did now. A breeze through her lips of fear, hot and hissed, like a tea kettle kept on too long. Marra had been sentenced. She knew that, but all she could remember of the trial was blurred vision and jumbled voices and a panic that spread to numb her limbs and choke the breath in her lungs. Now she sat in a close and claustrophobically dark room, alone. A sign of perhaps what was to come.

The hair on the back of her neck itched as it rose, a shudder going through her. She knew without turning around that one of her Voices was there. They were irregular visitors, and she never knew when one would show up in the waking world, but why would one show up now? She was sentenced and her doom was the prison camp. She would die there, likely.

”So ‘tis prison for you, eh? ” Black Sheep drawled as he stretched out in the air and waved an arm languidly across the dust motes dancing in the light coming from the bars. Marra squinted and frowned. What was HE doing here? She hated this one. He was barbaric, bloodthirsty and fond of whispering in her ear long and poetic descriptions of torture. According to the other voices, he was the Black Sheep of the family, a murderer cut off from the family but forced to join the ranks of Ancestors when his death came due.

”Time for you to listen to me. No kind words for you in here.” Black Sheep purred as Marra frowned more darkly, rubbing at her face with the back of her hand, smearing itchy and damp salt across her face before trying to block her ears with her hands. The Voice flipped over onto his front and placed his bony chin on his hands, his eyes meeting Marra’s with the look that suggested he was not the kindly soul that Grandmother was. His eyes looked like a predator’s. Cold, dark, and mean. Not even Boss Ba’fa looked like that, and he was formerly the head of a gang of thieves.

”I’m here to ensure you survive.” The Voice purred, his words carrying a cold edge that vibrated in the silence between Nowhere and Nowhen. Marra’s hand froze halfway to her head, as if dictated by him, not her, in her own actions. ”No soft living in there. You’ve been able to ignore me so far. Playing with your tricks of light, your flash and hand waving. Not going to work this time. You’re going to have to get your hands dirty. You’ll be in with murderers and rapists, pretty little thing like you. You’ll have to fight.”

Marra’s vision blurred again and images of her fellow prisoners in the courtroom paraded in front of her eyes once more. A forest of dangerous humanoids, that would show little mercy to her if it meant their own escape from the prison. Rumors of even more dangerous creatures that resided outside the prison walls at night. If she was to continue to live, she would have to learn from this Voice. Otherwise she would be at their mercy the moment she was caught unawares, to be used as a plaything for their own ends.

”Teach me?” She signed reluctantly, cringing as Black Sheep began cackling with delight that echoed obscenely around the tiny cell.

[Squeak]

Hehehe Thorsten... Made me wonder if he is going to eventually create The Machine of Lum the Mad.

Because revisionist history is awesome.

[Fon]

@FoggyKnight
Oh! Applying as a mute character again? I hope we both make it. It should be fun lol.

[Tein]

Original post edited with an app (link), hope it all checks out!