Way of the Wicked [PF] - ACT: ONE - Prison Break

In the kingdom of Talingarde, many crimes may send you to Branderscar Prison, but the sentence has but one meaning. You are wicked and irredeemable. Each of you received the same greeting when you arrived. You were held down by rough hands, stripped naked and branded upon the arm with a runic F. The mark signifies forsaken and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the great and eternal love of Mitra and his chosen mortal vassals.
Condemned, you might await the gentle ministrations of the inquisitors so that co-conspirators may be revealed and confessions extracted. Perhaps, some of you will be spared this ordeal. Perhaps instead you have come to Branderscar to face the final judgment. In three days, the executioner arrives and the axe falls or the pyre will be lit. Through fire or steel, your crimes will be answered.

You have all been chained together in the same communal cell dressed in nothing but the suit your mothers gave you. Manhandled and mistreated, any finery you once possessed is either ruined or long lost. No special treatment has been given any prisoner – male or female, commoner or noble – all of the forsaken are bound and imprisoned together. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain. Your arms are secured to the wall above by manacles. A guard is posted right outside the cell day and night. Little thought is given to long term accommodations. At Branderscar, justice comes swift and sure.

Escape seems hopeless. You have all have been stripped naked and any attempt to conceal anything on your person has failed. And if you could somehow slip your bonds and fly out of this prison, where would you go? The mark on your arm brands you as forsaken and any that helped you knowingly would make themselves guilty of crimes that would send them to Brandescar themselves. Who from your former life would want anything to do with the forsaken? Despised, alone and shackled – all that you can do now is await your doom.

For each of you, your old life is over. For each of you, hope is a fading memory. For each of you, justice will be fairly meted. And who can blame fair Talingarde after what each of you has done?

Her lower arm still throbbed where two hours ago the red hot iron had mercilessly dug into her soft milky flesh, where the smooth flawless white under the sizzling sounds and biting smell of burning flesh was marred by the crude runic F of the Forsaken. She was healing already, but that scar would remain.

It evoked associations of a captured swan to see fair Avara chained to the rough hewn prison wall like this. All of her body was lithe and slender and long, her delicate feet and hands as well as her shapely legs and craning neck crowned by an angelic face of classical beauty with the sensual lips, high cheek bones and the large, curious eyes that were scanning the room even now. All, for one prominent exception, the massive pair of plump round breasts crowned by dark and thick long nipples that hung weightily on her chest like ripe melons even now that her arms were fixated to the wall high above her head. No bodily hair disturbed the contrast of her light skin with the dark and brooding stone behind her, dirtied by blotches of dust and grime like the golden blond mane that framed her head and flowed down her back all the way to her small but pert rear but seemed to have lost some of its voluminous lustre during the dreary imprisonment.

While she might appear forlorn and helpless, her mind was still awake and active. Maybe it was just the discipline of her training that would not let her give up hope just yet. Maybe she would indeed meet her end before the sun had set another three times, and in a most gruesome way as well, but she would never forgive herself in those final moments to come if she had not at least tried every avenue of escape imaginable to her. For the last hour at least she had carefully shifted her wrists and ankles, trying them time and again against the crude iron binding her, but to no avail yet. Held back by caution not to chafe herself the manacles proved just the tiniest margin too narrow to slip from.

But she would continue to try. And to observe. There had to be a gap in the prison’s security somewhere. She only had to find it.

She looked over the cell, the F branded into her porcelain skin a ugly, red and black mark, soft elven flesh burnt away and defiled by crude irons, heated by ignorant human men, creatures that should feel lucky to kiss any woman boots! Still, as she fumed, Elasha looked over the cell, her own senses looking, not trusting, bitter and searching, as her ears twitched at every movement, eyes searching in the gloom of the cell.

Still, while she had been tossed in with a pair of males, at least they were shackled, her eyes roamed over their bodies in a predatory manner, evaluating and examining, making little point in hiding it, as she seems to try and evaluate their worth, and how much of a fight they would put up while breaking, or how much they would fetch at a market, not looking at them like men, but as a valuable object, as her cold elven eyes rake them.

Still, her expression, fey as mortals were likely to get, a touch otherworldly, softens, becoming far more caring as her eyes move over a shackled Tiefling, a faint expression of concern entering her stern eyes for a moment, even as they took in her curves and naked form.

Still, even distracted by the eyecandy, and the men, her ears would be listening, trying to find a chance, any chance of escape.

La'croise shifted slightly against the wall, mainly because his arms were starting to ache from being held over his head for so long. He barely even acknowledged the light throbbing of the brand on his arms. When one had been caught in as many explosions as he had, burns weren't really a bother.

And boy did his experience show. Along his lean frame, more built for acrobatics and speed rather than strength, numerous healed burn marks marred his skin. Yet, strangely enough, they didn't seem to detract from his attractiveness. In fact, they seemed to add to it, giving his skin an almost marble-like pattern. His face was untouched though, his grayish-green hair falling over a pair of red eyes, green lines tattooed beneath each eye. His fingernails were long and lacquered a dark green. Strange how they remained intact all this time.

He looked over his cell mates. Four very attractive women, and another man. One of the women, an elf, even seemed to be checking him out. With a playful smile, he shifted his body to give her a better look, letting her take in his lengthy, slender manhood. Seemed the guards felt like being nice to him and the other man, giving them a rather nice sight before they were executed.

Not that he had any intention of dying here. He just hadn't thought of a way out yet.

"So..." he spoke up, his voice showing none of the despair and resignation other prisoners might have. Hell, he sounded almost friendly, "Since we're all in here together, let's get to know eachother shall we? What are you all in here for?"

It was the second time Kitira was being caught lately, the last time she was captured to be a slave though she was quickly freed by her captors as she proved to be useful and eager to learn more of their cult, still she quickly developed a kink for being dominated but also for dominating others still this situation was way too much, the painful marking on her arm was far from being enjoyable and she along with both her mistresses would soon be executed.

The powerful chains made any attempt to escape unthinkable and the continuous vigilance along with the eyes of the unknown prisoners only turned her on with no chance of sexual release, her swollen honey soft breasts had their nipples hard and expectant slightly moving back and forth as her breath was a little heavier than usual and her cheeks tinged of a soft crimson tone from embarrassment but also from arousal as they had been there for a long while. The wiggling of her slender figure and wide hips were not those of struggling trying to break free or escape but those of someone who couldn't stand be in a situation like this. The involuntary movement of her tantalizing toned legs and ass was hard if not impossible to miss and what had started as slight movement was growing to a more teasingly one.

Turning to her cell mates she started paying closer attention to all of them trying to discern something about them, figuring they were all spellcasters with the possible exceptions of the female aasimar and he male human whom she thought to be a rogue and a fighter. Would it be ok if she just spoke to them or would it be punished as well, maybe she should give it a try and just whisper to the closer one, she could try to seduce the guard if he just interrupted her, but her attempt not to draw the guards attention was just interrupted by another voice, she then shut for an instant waiting for the others reaction.

Looking over the man, his hardness exposed, she gives a smirk, looking for all the world like a predatory shark, as she looks him over, eyes moving to her dear, sweet kitten, as she gives a short hum, seeming somewhat amused at his question, though she does look up and down his form. "Collaring and breaking boys like you for sale."

Her tone is matter of fact, simple, even as her voice, smooth and almost like water over silk, washes over the ears. "Now kitten, you are not trying to masturbate without permission, are you?" There is a slight sing-song to her voice, a very subtle mockery, a teasing edge, but affectionate.

Though not nearly as skillful as Mara's, Kitira's tail roamed over her hairless pussy in a teasing way for her elven mistress "hmm do I deserve a little punishment from you Ma' lady?" not exactly being sure how that may be possible under current circumstances but at least talking about it could help release the tension, although Mara words seem to hide some hope in them.

Following with her eyes to whoever would speak now she turned to La'croise then and answered too "Stupid humans, stupid catfolks... stupid Mitra... revolt, mutiny, insurrection, call it whatever you want they all deserve to fall down, though you don't seem to be like them at all..."

She enjoying being herself watched but also teasing the restrained human as well. "Interesting... you have an usual smell of powder, is that related to what brought you here?" The seductive and playful movement of her hips and tail didn't stop even for a second while talking to the stranger.

She would chuckle, eyes torn between her infernal lover, and their joint.. Well, some of the more bestial races tend to need to learn by example, rather then outright instruction, as she licks her lips, jealous at this moment, of the lack of tail, unable to grant herself some relief. Still, as her eyes roamed Kitira's body, she nodded.

"Indeed kitten. Perhaps Mara," her head partially turned to the tiefling beauty, "no release and no spankings for a week?" She hummed at that, nodding her head as much as she could. "Or perhaps, scream her apologies into each of our folds, ten spankings each? It would only be... fair after all."

There is a promise in the elf's eyes. If they indeed escaped, their pet would be punished after all.

Her anger had been a silent fury that she kept within but it had showed in other ways as the blue 'tattoos' covering her pale skin shifted and roiled to reflect her emotions and her attendant breezes roiled with them, creating little tornadoes from the dust on the floor of the cell or tugging at a few loose strands of her grey-black hair. Only when Kiara looked up a little from staring at the brand on her wrist as the flirtatious banter between the other women in her cell finally permeated her mind and distracted her from her quiet stew of guilt for her former crew and anger at her captors did they begin to settle.

She'd been too angry to see straight at first, and she'd barely paid them any mind, but now that she took them all in simple appreciation for their forms proved a welcome relief from the black morass of emotion within. She watched quietly, feeling contemplative and faintly lecherous as the swirling patterns and her attendant breezes began to subside slowly. She didn't dare speak for the moment however, since to do so would interrupt the oddly tantalizing little bit of play going on before her and the only question she had to answer would just bring the darkness back as recollection of her crime would bring recollection of her own capture in which she'd seen her lovers slaughtered and her ship turned into a corpse-filled burning wreck...

No, better not to think of that for now. Revenge could come once she figured out an escape, for now the storm needed to be contained.

La'croise gave a sharp, barking laugh at the elf and tiefling's response. "That's Mitra for you. Claiming to be all loving and compassionate, and yet here we are, locked in a cell, branded like animals and sentenced to die in a no doubt brutal fashion. There's no such thing as a 'kind' god in this world. That's why I tend to count on my own hands than theirs." he wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

As the catfolk spoke in response, a wide smile spread across his face. "Ah, your Pete's a sharp one!" he said with glee, addressing the tiefling's and the elf before turning his attention back to the catfolk. " That, my dear, would be the smell of the Talingarde university's ashes. Such high and mighty scholars, looking down on me from on high. Oh, it wa so satisfying, listening to their screams as my fires burned away their institution. The fact that th surrounding district went up in flames was a nice bonus too." That gleeful expression on his face showed he was nothing short of proud of his accomplishment.

He then glanced over at the remaining two cellmates, the man and the tattooed woman. "You've been awfully quiet. No need to be shy. We're all friends here."

"I druther not speak of what I've done." Kiara replied shortly. "But rest assured I'll be exacting vengeance on Mitra for how 'is have punished me. A Storm bows to nothing and no one!" The marks on her skin roiled again and the breezes surrounding her stiffened for a brief moment before she took a deep breath, counting in her head to calm herself as she sighed. Had she been left with even so much as her clothes what she had been would have been quite obvious, but naked and unadorned only her accent really marked her apart from any other Sylph, not that her kind were particularly common... "And 'part from sharing our 'crimes' or 'aving a bit of fun with each other." Here she cast a significant glance over the other girls at this, though not precisely a disparaging one. "'eres precious little to talk about here."

“Oh, I could suggest some interesting topics to talk about …”

Avara’s attempt to casually shrug her shoulders was severely impaired by the way her physical form was restrained and resulted in no more than a brief flexing and relaxing of the muscles in her upper arms and back, sending a brief ripple through the softer tissue of her breasts. The lovely aasimar was slightly irritated by the behavior some of her cell mates displayed. Keeping level headed and cool was certainly commendable, but was this really the moment to sabotage rational thought by succumbing to carnal desires?

Her chin turned towards the small, grilled window that served as the sole light source for the dimly lit room. ”Why not chat about the sunny weather outside, the green meadows and rolling rivers basking in the bright light of noon … and how we could get there before some righteous zealot tears us to pieces?”

Looking between the two, there is a faint smirk on the elven woman's face. "There is also the consideration, that the guard, being male, can hear us, and on hearing such, is drawn in, images and ideas dancing across his mind, teasing him with what he can never touch, never enjoy, even as his little cock hardens in his uniform, straining against the fabric of his uniform, as he pretends to ignore us."

She chuckles, winking at the aasimar.

La'croise cocked an eyebrow as the women spoke, talking about escape and then tempting the guard with their sexual shenanigans. A small idea bean to form in his mind, a small smile spreading on his face. "Oh? And who's to say he can't enjoy it? As far as the world's concerned, we're irredeemable monsters who deserve the worse punishments imaginable. Who's to say he can't just walk in and take what he wants? Who's going to punish him for making evil women suffer?" He spoke this up loud enough for the guard to overhear, hopefully planting the idea in his head.

Following with her eyes to the now speaking sylph, Kitira fully explored her naked body for a moment now, it seemed angry as the gorgeous outsider was she found some relief watching her and the others flirt with each other. The sensual enticing dance turned to Kiara this time, her tail moving between her legs curling up to her exposed sex "Anything that entertain us and helps us forget for a while is welcome for now" a flirty wink she gave to her while still swaying around her tight ass, her round breast bouncing to each other to the moves of her slender figure.

The flirting moved along to the blonde when she spoke about 'suggesting interesting topics', eye candy for the guard, male prisoners and seemed most of the females too "hmmm green meadows under the warm sun, taking a moonlight bath on the skirts of a river..." it was as if Kitira was picturing herself everyplace Avara would mention, eyes closed and kneeling down up to where the chains would allow her with her arms above her head only to wriggle more and more as she stand back again. Conversation seemed to have gotten pretty interesting by now as well as the show.

Another ripple of violent movement from her marks showed her distaste for the idea, but Kiara played along. "D'youns think they'd punish him if we enjoyed it?" She had to admit, the show was nice, and she knew how to fake want when she needed to. "Gods know I could use a good fuck from a fat cock... She eyed La'Croise as she spoke, giving a faint flirtatious smile even though the words were meant to carry to the ears of the guard outside.

Bluff Roll: 1d20+8=26

Then she frowned, lowering her voice slightly. "And what if th' guard's a lady? Not that I doubt the willingness of we prisoners but them Mitran bastards don't seem the sort to think a little fun between girls acceptable..."

"Well, if the guard is a lady we will have to see whether the best piece of our friend here ..." Avara's chin briefly jerks toward La'croise as she continues her wry whisper "... can stand at attention when it is required of him."

Suddenly there's sound of activity at the doors leading into the prison. A man that you recognize as the man that held the branding iron comes in. He had been laughing when the flesh sizzled beneath the branding iron. But now he almost seems a little confused or dazed.

"You there. Elf!" He points at Elasha and continues gruffly, "That’s the scum! Get ‘em unshackled. If any of you makes trouble, they’ll earn a thrashing! Today’s your lucky day, scum. You’ve got a visitor. How you ever warranted such a fine lady is beyond me. Seems she wants to say good-bye. Now step lively. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting." He throws some rags towards Elasha. A pair of torn trousers and a rag of a shirt. "Get those on ... now quickly."

Two other guards unfastens the manacles but not before brushing against both Elasha's breasts and ass several times.

"Let's hope he is man then, unless he can prove himself to be a desirable good for the ladies... now La'croise can you do that?" with a playful wink Kitira expected that the human would start flirting, dancing or whatever her could do to show himself more interesting in a physical way, and not only for the chance of having a female guard.

But the chat was interrupted when branding guard came, hissing at him she just couldn't contain herself "You fucking bastard!, you will regret this day once we are free from this, either in this life or in my next I'll make you pay!", he didn't seemed to pay attention to her as he was somehow dazed so she just shut. But as he moved on to Elasha, she started again "Let her go!..." and continued insulting him in dark infernal speech. Perhaps the words of Mara could easy her now if not Kitira may earn herself the beating they were menaced with.

Looking at the man, she would nod, taking the rags, even if there was a faint, disdainful sniff as she looked over the rags, but she did not complain, not really, not even as her eyes narrowed, both at the brander, and the fools that had touched her, even as she put the clothes, making sure to put them on just slowly enough to tease, swift enough to avoid being though of as lagging, as he looked at her thrashing kitten, and she spoke in that Infernal tongue.

"Kitten, calm yourself. While we may play with them later, and I look forward to your creativity, for now, I wish to speak to whoever this lady of theirs may be." Her tone was calm and cool, as she lonely looked at Kitria out of the corner of her eyes, as she had the rags on her body, somehow holding herself with the dignity and poise of a queen, despite the state of her dress, as she arched a eyebrow at the men.

"And kitten? I would ask that you make sure Tigiri is properly equipped for play." With that last spoken word, she would follow the guards, but not before fixing the men hat brushed her with a glare that had more in common with that of a shark that had smelled blood, or a demon a soul.

Avara was about to add a few more comments of her own to the debate about how exactly to overcome a female prison card in their current position with the limited options granted to them when the torturer entered the room.

Immediately her gaze turned cold and the brand on her lower arm throbbed again, poignantly so. She felt a cold ire at the sight of the man. It was less about what he had done than about how. The delight their misery had caused him to her was yet another bit of proof that for many self proclaimed good citizens of Talingarde the belief in Mitra was mere lip service covering their own dark and base animalistic urges, and that he had drawn wicked pleasure from her peril stoked the desire to see him suffer at her hand in return.

She would not voice these thoughts, though. In such matters she preferred to talk with deeds, and not with words, and she hoped she would be given an opportunity to do so. Until then she would watch, and there was undeniable curiosity who would pay a visit to an inmate of this particular institution.