Waywardly Wicked - Chapter One

Evening fell on the young half-elf’s first day of residence at Branderscar Prison. At least that is what the guards mentioned as they delivered the inmates’ dinner as it was impossible to know the time it truly was given the lack of windows or any type of access to the outside from their cells. As she stared disapprovingly at the pan of utterly unappetizing gray slop that mockingly represented the sustenance the facilitators were required to provide the imprisoned, she couldn’t help but sigh.

“Yeah,” Furr commented with her mouth full of the nasty gruel, “It’sh not exactly fine dining. Should probably *gulp* try to power through it if you can though.”

M glanced around at her cellmates, the only ones not eating the pathetic little dish were Ryahl, herself and the eternally sour Cirano. The silent dwarf known as Red had cleaned his plate so quickly that she was uncertain that he’d even received any food in the first place.

“Eat,” the unexpected voice of Barriddon to her left surprised her as he ate calmly and with proper manners despite his rugged and somewhat savage appearance, “You’ll need your strength for what is to come.”

The half-elven woman looked at the man with a puzzled expression, “’For what’s to come’? What do you mean?”

He set his paltry meal to the side and spoke firmly to everyone, “Faith. My story does not end here… If you’re fortunate enough, yours will not either.”

The old wizard in the corner rolled his eyes and groaned, “You can shove your rhetoric right back down through the Nine Hells, pig-nose. Your newfound god isn’t going to descend, sorry *ascend*, to our pitiful plane of existence and exonerate you or any of us from the fates we’ve landed ourselves in. Asmodeus and his entire cultic religion are nothing but a sham, that’s why they were as good as wiped out by the Royal House of Darius.”

In a flash, the rusty manacles barely held together as Barriddon attempted futilely to lurch forward and throttle the aged man, who reflexively retreated further into the corner out of pure unadulterated fear, knocking over his bowl of gruel causing it to splatter across the floor as it finally came to rest after rolling on its rim for those tense few moments. Everyone, even the contemplative Ryahl broke his meditation and looked at the ferocious half-orc who had already begun re-seating himself and continuing his humble meal.

“Disrespect the Prince of Nessus again, old man and I guarantee it won’t be me that you need fear. He does not approve of those who sully his name.”

Intimidated as he was, the cowering Cirano dropped his proud façade and simply brought his knees in close and wrapped his arms around them, a warm puddle grew quietly beneath him. Furr laughed briefly over the end of the exchange at the expense of the terrified man while the others simply returned to their actions just before it had occurred as though nothing had happened. M let out a sigh of relief that the moment had passed and decided to take Barriddon’s advice to heart, both about his faith and the need to eat. She took her wooden implement in hand and forced herself to swallow the halfway edible meal before her.

An hour later, armed guards entered the prison.

“Alright maggots,” Blackerly’s harsh voice bellowed as he and a modest contingent of guards entered the cell block, “the warden’s here to address you before he retires for the evening and I swear by Mitra’s balls if any of you lot do or say anything, I’ll beat you so black and blue yer own mum wouldn’t recognize ya.”

M could feel Furr’s overwhelming desire to immediately back-talk the sergeant from the other side of the room, but amazingly she held her tongue. The other prisoners did likewise and simply waited patiently in silence as a quiet jingle accompanied the loud clacking of a pair of expensive boots rapping against the cobblestone floor. In walked an overtly pompous stark white-haired, clean-shaven man of many years, he appeared to be Cirano’s age but perhaps older by a decade. He glared at the group behind the gilded monocle of his one good eye, the other covered by a black patch with Mitra’s holy symbol adorning the cloth.

“I will be brief,” the well-dressed man said in a voice that barely hid his disinterest in the entire environment and indeed the situation as a whole, “I am Mathias Richter, Warden here at Branderscar. I am required by law to keep you alive until the executioner and inquisitor arrive in three days to ply their trade. I am also required by law to make this single appearance to personally ensure that you are *in fact* alive at my time of review. Nothing else is required of me so allow me to clarify,” he said flatly as he began to parade in front of the cell, looking at each inmate as he spoke, “If you have any complaints about your accommodations: I don’t care. If you have any issues with my personnel: I don’t care. If you have any problems with the cuisine: I don’t care. If you have anything at all on your mind: I. Do. Not. Care. I trust Sergeant Blackerly will suffice as custodian of you wretched lot until you part ways with us in the near future… Enjoy your stay.”

With that, he folded his arms behind him and strutted his way out of the cell block, Blackerly and the others clung to him like parasites as the Sergeant shouted back to them:

“Now get ta sleep ya worthless vermin!”

One heavy clang and the oaken door closed behind them, leaving the prisoners to themselves once more.

“Quite the little peacock isn’t he,” Furr blurted out as though she had been holding her breath for minutes, which M fully considered that the Halfling may have done just that to avoid trouble.

“He’s a more capable wizard than I,” Cirano chimed in, “for those sensitive to magical auras; one can tell that he has a strong understanding of The Art.”

“Well that’s not saying a lot, Dolvex,” Furr quipped with a sharp grin, “You’re a pretty garbage mage if you can’t cast a spell and get yourself out of here.”

“Petulant little toad,” Cirano shot back, infuriated, “You know they confiscated all of my material components before locking me up! I can’t do a thing without access to proper reagents!”

“Hm, sure sounds like a lot of garbage to me.”

“You’re a practitioner of the Art as well! You know the limitations of our craft!”

“Pfft, I merely dabble,” Furr chuckled, waving her hand, causing the manacles to shake and jingle rapidly,

“I at least know I’m trash when it comes to magic. I don’t make stuff up like you do.”

“What is this outrage!? How dare you! I’ll have you know—“

M did not wish to undermine the aged merchant, largely to avoid a similar spectacle to what was transpiring, but she knew that his estimation of the warden was far too generous. She too was a spell caster but not that of a traditional student of The Art as it was most often called by its practitioners. Her mother had once told her when she was a child that the blood of dragons lingered in the bloodline of their family. Growing up, she always believed it to be simply a tale she had been told to keep her imagination bright and vivid; after all, dragons were known to on very rare occasion intermingle with the humanoid races by changing their forms, though such couplings were often one-time events that virtually never produced any progeny.

Her opinion changed when shortly after reaching adulthood, she began to notice subtle differences in the world around her, becoming more sensitive to the ebb and flow of ordinarily unseen extraordinary energies. Wizards often studied for years, decades even to understand the basics of magic and The Art, with fewer and fewer still who elevated their knowledge to utilizing the more complex iterations of spellcraft. Additionally, virtually all spells require material components to act as catalysts, bringing about the manifestation of magical essence. By her twentieth birthday, she had already acquired the capacity to employ a small number of mystic spells at her leisure without ever requiring the use of reagents or turning a single page of a spell book. They simply echoed in the back of her mind, allowing her to call upon their innate power when she saw the need arise. Using them too frequently would result in their failure to function she had discovered but she somehow felt that it was natural, deciding to simply accept the limitations of her innate abilities. Limitations that were now present more than ever, even if she utilized the few spells at her disposal, they would not likely get very far.

So upon examining their warden’s introduction, she had noted a magical aura about him but it was hardly as impressive as Cirano had boldly claimed. She chose to investigate her cellmates more closely as he continued to bicker endlessly with Furr. The Halfling woman exhibited a faint, almost undetectable aura as she had anticipated but the older man seemed to possess a small but potent amount of energy that flowed around him. It was at the very least on par with that of the warden. Why would he bother lying about his capabilities? He didn’t seem the type to hide anything that gave him a higher standing over anyone. Had he seen her aura and not made mention of it?

“And just what are you staring at, hm,” Cirano snapped at her, drawing her attention back to reality.

“Oh, nothing sorry,” M replied shakily, “I sort of just drifted off for a moment… I must be getting tired.”

The wizard’s critical gaze lingered on her for a moment until another pebble struck him from the side, drawing another string of curses and rantings from the old man. She gave an appreciative nod to the not-so-innocent looking dwarf who promptly gave a toothy grin in response.

“Get some rest, M,” the calm voice of Ryahl drew her attention away from the dwarf and wizard, “If you wish to face the future properly, you will need your sleep.”

She paused and looked at the man strangely. He had not expressed the same kind of fanatical faith that Barriddon employed, but rather an acceptance of circumstance thus far.

“It is simply the natural way of things,” he responded cryptically along with a soft chuckle.

A thunderous sound awoke the young sorceress as her eyes quickly scanned the area to find the source of the monumental disturbance. It was rhythmic, deep and reverberating throughout the cell block. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours that she had been asleep but whatever this noise was had shaken her from her dreams’ peaceful grasp.

“Ah, looks like the other prisoner in this hall has begun snoring again,” Ryahl offered as he glanced to his right down the hall before returning his gaze to M with a smile, “I told you that you’d need rest for what was to come.”

“Gods, how can one person snore that loudly,” she asked incredulously.

“The thing’s an ogre,” Cirano said as he futilely attempted to cover his ears, “Those monsters are just walking, talking mayhem machines that leave nothing but waste and destruction in their path. Honestly it’s a relief that the Mitran regime has hunted them to near extinction here in Talingarde. I have no idea why they locked this beast up instead of slaughtering the wretch.”

“Likely to use for a public spectacle or special occasion for the nearby townsfolk to distract them from

whatever complaints they might have for the local lords,” Barriddon surmised aloud.

“That’s awful,” M muttered to herself, finding a measure of pity looking in the darkened hall at the slowly rising and falling shoulders of the large beast behind bars.

“That’s the world we live in,” the half-orc gave a disgusted grunt, “the self-righteous holy men of Mitra dictate that something is evil or wrong and the whole of Talingarde simply bows down and lets them have their way.”

“It has brought peace to the island though, you have to give them that,” Cirano butted in but cut himself short when he saw the murderous glare emanating from the large half-orc, “In any event, the ogre is likely drugged to keep him subdued, I would doubt that these poorly maintained cells could hold him were he at his full strength.”

M merely nodded and glanced back at the cacophonous sound emanating from the far cell with a sad gaze. She had encountered an ogre long ago when she was a child; it was only for a moment but she had seen the gigantic beast simply traveling through the woods at the same time that she and her mother were on the road from Ghastenhall to one of the nearby villages for business. It was a rather suspenseful journey, as her mother urged their horse drawn carriage with the utmost haste to avoid contact with the creature.

“Not to take Cirano’s side,” the ever-serene Ryahl interjected, “but ogres, like all goblinkin, are pre-disposed to evil and maliciousness.”

Barriddon glared at the blonde man, but unlike Cirano, Ryahl met that gaze with his usual calm demeanor.

“You can hate the statement if you like, my large friend, but it unfortunately does not change the nature of these creatures. You may find offense given your orcish heritage, but history has proven that once human or elven blood is introduced and an offspring is born of both worlds then the child’s mind has the capacity for more than mere survival or amusement. You were born with great potential, and if your story of your incarceration is true, then you did precisely as any member of the ‘goodly’ races might have done. Justice sometimes comes in the form of righteous vengeance. It is merely the way of things in our little world.”

The half-orc relaxed a bit, digesting the man’s words, slowly becoming a slight nod.

“True to an extent, I suppose,” Barriddon sighed, “full-blooded orcs can’t stop tearing one another’s throats out long enough to organize more than a single tribe or warband.”

Due to their introspective conversation and the ogre’s relentless snoring, the group was taken completely by surprise when the cell block’s door swung wide open and in marched a stone-faced Sergeant Blackerly with two somewhat confused looking guards beside him.

“Twice in one day, Tomas,” Furr announced with a grin, “Did you finally come to confess your feelings for me?”

The middle-aged man seemingly ignored the comment, scanning the room for a moment with a dazed expression before his gaze settled on the scowling half-orc.

“You,” he shouted gruffly before turning to his two subordinates, “That’s the scum! Get ‘em unshackled.”

The guards reluctantly opened the gate and secured Barriddon’s chains behind his back before allowing him full use of his limbs.

“If any o’ you makes trouble, they’ll earn a thrashing,” he swung back quickly to Barriddon, “Today’s yer lucky day, scum. You’ve got a visitor. How ya ev’r warranted such a fine lady is beyond me. Seems she wants to say goodbye. Now step lively. Don’t want ta keep her waiting.”

The half-orc looked back to his cellmates as he was being escorted away. His confusion was genuine, but so was his intrigued grin.

The half-orc was brought into the interrogation room and shoved roughly into the rickety wooden chair at one end of a long wooden table by Sergeant Blackerly. A hauntingly beautiful emerald-eyed woman with platinum blonde hair that could nearly be described as pure white and garbed in ornate black funeral gown and silk veil arose from the other end of the table, gasped and ran to Barriddon with tear-stained cheeks and puffy red eyes.

“Oh dearest,” she proclaimed, though the half-orc was certain he had never seen this woman before in his life, “I’m so relieved you’re alive!”

She quickly turned to the sergeant-at-arms, pleading, “Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity’s sake?”

To Barriddon’s surprise, the typically cruel middle-aged man seemed to possess a thousand-yard stare before quickly snapping a response of: “Of course, milady. For you, ‘tis no problem at all.”

As soon as the sergeant and his men exited the room, the half-orc laughed aloud.

“I don’t know who the hell you are or what you’ve done to that pig, but you’ve already made my day, I assure you.”

The woman, sensing that her companion had already seen through her charade of a grieving lover offers merely a smirk as she sat back down at the end of the table and quipped, “Have you forgotten me, dearest?”

“Call me Tiadora,” she said, her voice and demeanor quickly became all business.

“We possess a mutual friend who would like to meet you and your fellow cell-mates. Unfortunately, our friend is unwilling to visit you in your present rather… shabby accommodations. So it seems you must escape.”

Barriddon snorted derisively at the snide comment, drawing a teasing expression from the woman.

“Oh don’t be so dour. Just because it’s never been done before is no reason you can’t be the first. If you can manage that, cross the moors on the outskirts of town. On the Old Moor Road, you’ll see a manor house with a signal lantern burning in the second story. There our mutual friend waits for you. That is all I am to say. He did, however, wish for me to give you this.”

She takes off her silken white veil and wipes away a few fake tears before stuffing it under the sleeve of Barriddon’s tattered prison shirt.

“Something to remember me by, dearest.”

The half-orc chuckled, “How’s this ragged piece of cloth going to help me get out of here?”

“’Us’,” she corrected, “Our friend has requested you, and your cellmates to meet with him. I imagine that there is at least one among that motley bunch that can put that ‘ragged piece of cloth’ to use’.”

“Who is this ‘friend’?”

Tiadora arose from her seat, wearing a curt smile; as if on cue, Blackerly and his goons returned and the woman reverted to the perfect picture of grief and beauty she had previously displayed, rushing back and throwing her arms around Barriddon’s broad shoulders.

“No! I can’t bear to leave you,” she cried out as she kissed him on the cheek, fake tears flowing all the while.

“I’m afraid it’s time, Miss, “Blackerly said, shaking his head.

She turns and looks deep into the sergeant’s eyes and says, “Thank you for letting me say goodbye. There’s no need to search him. You are such a good friend for letting me see my dearest one more time.”

“Such a good friend…” the sergeant repeated almost mechanically before snapping back to his usual expression of general disdain and boredom, “Well… uh, it was a pleasure m’lady. This way, please.”

Tiadora launched one final glance back at the half-orc before departing: a teasing grin and drawing an immaterial heart in the air with her fingers.

As the guards began to escort Barriddon back to his cell, he couldn’t help but notice the kiss the mysterious woman had placed on his cheek was unbelievably cold to the touch. In fact, the patch of skin was so cold that it felt burning, almost as though he had been frostbitten. Who, or what, in the hell was she? A sudden spark of recognition hit the half-orc as he realized that his faith had been rewarded by the Prince of Nessus after all.

Secured once more within the cell, Barriddon relayed what had transpired in the interrogation room to the others once the guards had returned to their posts and locked the doors behind them.

“Bullshit,” Furr blurted out, giggling madly, “You had a drop-dead gorgeous blonde visit you and tells you that we’re all gonna escape Branderscar? Are you sure you didn’t get beaten mad in the other room and lose a few marbles?”

Barriddon growled and withdrew the cloth from his sleeve, presenting it as he stood up as best the chains would allow.

“She gave us this to facilitate our escape and she was unearthly cold to the touch! She’s clearly a divine messenger from Asmodeus!”

Red suddenly ripped a piece of his own tattered clothing off and began waving it around wildly; seemingly mocking the half-orc and the veil he had deemed to be the instrument of their escape. The antics drew out a roaring bit of laughter from Furr, managing even a chuckle from Ryahl and M, but everyone was shocked when Cirano silenced them with an abrupt interjection.

“Enough! Do you fools even realize what has been delivered to us,” his voice descending to barely above a whisper.

“A useless garment that we might be able to use as a wipe,” Furr snapped back dryly.

For the first time since their incarceration, Cirano wandered as close as his chains would allow towards the half-orc. “May I,” He politely and respectfully asked for the item, and all those present were completely shocked when Barriddon complied, before examining it more closely.

“This veil is imbued with incredible magic… Each one of the patches present on the garment is in fact a tried and true item that can be removed and become reality! Rope, lock picking implements, a sack filled with spell components and nearly a half-dozen other items that are just as useful or more! For example…”

With one flick of his wrinkled wrist, the wizard pulled off a patch and a sharp metal dagger appeared in his hand, drawing an astonished gasp from a few of the group. They all looked to one another, a sliver of renewed hope burning within their hearts.

“We are not forsaken,” Barriddon repeated himself from earlier, “Not yet.”