Apr 16, 2019 9:17 pm
You are not sure how long you have been here, but it seems like forever. Every so often, you assume daily, you are dragged from your cell by a pair of disgusting ogres, slapped, scraped and nearly beaten to death before the one they call the Keeper visits you on the rack, his implements of torture carving new markings on your flesh until the loss of blood makes you faint. Soon after you find yourself awake again, wounds partially healed as if you had been under the care of a watchful healer. But in this place, there are none, so you have been attributing your fortune to the blessings of the Sun god, Pelor.
Your cell is small, perhaps five-feet square, is squalid, with no place to cover yourself should you need to relieve yourself or otherwise obtain some bit of modesty. You are glad of the fact that the cloth you wear still covers most of your body, but the filth ingrained in it is a festering cesspool of disease just waiting to erupt. The muddied floor is no better, and the blood-soaked straw mat upon which you sleep might as well be the floor itself, such little comfort does it provide.
Periodically, you watch as one of the other prisoners is dragged away, this time to the upstairs where you have no doubt they become the highlight of one of the many feats that have been raging on. The giants are celebrating something, but what you do not know. The orcs below are little more than slaves, and on occasion you have managed to elicit their ire to the point where they tell you tidbits, but nothing more than you have already been told. Giants are gathering. More-so, they are gathering together; hill, stone, cloud, frost and even fire giants from far south have been seen together in great war parties. This bodes ill for the lands of men if their masters cannot be rooted out and stopped.
Your last round with the keeper, however, may have shed some light. He whispered to you, as he was wont to due while digging his blades into your skin while interrogating, about the mistress visiting. A powerful sorceress and cleric who could bend men to her will and defeat the strongest giant in combat as easily as a giant could defeat a man. You have not seen this sorceress, but it is a sure bet that she has something to do with the giant uprising.
Your cell is small, perhaps five-feet square, is squalid, with no place to cover yourself should you need to relieve yourself or otherwise obtain some bit of modesty. You are glad of the fact that the cloth you wear still covers most of your body, but the filth ingrained in it is a festering cesspool of disease just waiting to erupt. The muddied floor is no better, and the blood-soaked straw mat upon which you sleep might as well be the floor itself, such little comfort does it provide.
Periodically, you watch as one of the other prisoners is dragged away, this time to the upstairs where you have no doubt they become the highlight of one of the many feats that have been raging on. The giants are celebrating something, but what you do not know. The orcs below are little more than slaves, and on occasion you have managed to elicit their ire to the point where they tell you tidbits, but nothing more than you have already been told. Giants are gathering. More-so, they are gathering together; hill, stone, cloud, frost and even fire giants from far south have been seen together in great war parties. This bodes ill for the lands of men if their masters cannot be rooted out and stopped.
Your last round with the keeper, however, may have shed some light. He whispered to you, as he was wont to due while digging his blades into your skin while interrogating, about the mistress visiting. A powerful sorceress and cleric who could bend men to her will and defeat the strongest giant in combat as easily as a giant could defeat a man. You have not seen this sorceress, but it is a sure bet that she has something to do with the giant uprising.
OOC:
This thread is for Dwendylin alone. Others may view, but not post here.
