Open Chronicles Dragons In Chains

[Jeriah Thackett]

"I suppose expecting you to be light fingered doesn't work if all the guards are trying to put out fires," he told William.

Thackett reclaimed his original wine glass. He placed a hand very gently on Hera's shoulder in a seemingly protective gesture.

"It might not suit me, but someone has to try and do some thinking around here," he told her.

"I favour a safe house. Go to ground. Guards here won't be well paid or trained. Run at them, they run away because they're scared. Run away and they chase you because they think its what they're supposed to do. Hide and they'll go play cards because they're bored."

 

[Hera]

"It hurts," Hera complained softly to no one, her gaze distant and offset as she sipped at the second stolen cup. She left the boys to their planning, incapable and unwilling to join in on it. Truth be told she rather hated the concept of planning. Often it could be like pulling teeth to get her to contribute to the crew's musings. No, it was better to come to her after minds were made up and then she'd make her comments.

But now? Like this? She put her head down and tried to tune it out, bringing small morsels of dinner crumbs to her mouth as she hummed to herself.

Despite her best efforts, a pesky image of her dressed as a nun kept flickering forward. What the hell. "No."

 

[William de Courcey]

"Time to go house hunting then". Not that he'd risk settling down to play happy families or neighbours with the others. They'd end up murdering each other within a month. "I suppose here's as good as any to lie low for a while. Better than bedding it down on the road".

A groan as he looked at the wine. None of this for a few days, "We'd better stock it up too to make sure we don't need to be outside. Food, water, cards, wine". Exchanging one cell for another, he wondered how their half orc would take it.

Hera seemed more out of it than usual. He fervently hoped it wasn't an ill omen. His imagination ran riot with what he imagined she was getting glimpses of her. Her talent seemed as much of a curse as it was a blessing. Out of the blue a firm "No" arrived. He exchanged a look with Jeriah. She was in her own world but the madness was worth it, it'd saved their hides enough times in the past.

 

[Jeriah Thackett]

"I'll go and play rich wheat merchant down at the docks and find out if any of the warehouses are currently unnocupied. They're close enough that if we can't get back here we can lay low for a few hours there," he said before taking another swig of wine.

Jeriah never felt any guilt swindling the rich. They were thieves in plain sight. Their immoral actions invisible to the guards. It was the revelation that had set him down this path and away from his lost cause.

"The wine isn't bad either," he reflected. The fall hadn't been as hard as he might have imagined.

"And was that a 'no' to being a nun? Because otherwise you're going as a choir boy."

 

[Hera]

Hera crinkled her nose, tilting her head up to give Jeriah a hostile look of betrayal.

"You," she accused, finding the source of the vision. "You're gonna step in horse dung and I'm gonna enjoy every minute of it." But in an odd way, he'd know that was a 'fine, I'll do it'.

She stood up abruptly, chair scrapping back. "Across from the bakers with a shoe, I wanna go to sleep." There Jeriah would find an empty warehouse.

She picked up the wine bottle, not willing to let the last of it go. She turned to leave, then swung around and gave them an expectant look. "Chopchop."

 

[Jeriah Thackett]

THE NEXT MORNING

"Damnit!" Jeriah exclaimed. He tried to wipe the horse dung back onto the grass. His cast his gaze around to see if anyone had heard the 'holy man' swearing. "Don't you laugh," he muttered to Hera

William de Courcey walked the same road as them towards the small prison. They didn't need a large prison of course. Other than the wing for the nobility it was emptied frequently. Those inside cast back into the streets leaving behind a few fingers for their crimes or even a limb. Or they left in a cheap bag in the direction of the burial grounds.

William would act as lookout for the first part of this routine. Jeriah had to convince the guards that he was a travelling holy man from Hurani, a new religion in the east, and that he wanted to talk to the wealthy prisoners about conversion. He knew a little of the religion which was hopefully more than the guards. If any of the guards had converted this was going to be a very short stunt indeed.

"How do you think we'll do?" he asked Hera as the approached the foreboding stone walls.

 

[William de Courcey]

About twenty yards back and three to the side, William followed the pair. He'd left separately from the pair and given no indication he knew them. He kept his pace slow and meandering, just enough to keep them in sight, not straying too far or getting too close. To the most keen eyed observer all it would look like was a thief eyeing up a holy man as an easy mark.

His eyes flickered to the rooftops. All too often people just looked at their feet. He'd be a lot happier on the thieves highway but for now the streets would do. The sight of Jeriah as a travelling cleric had prompted gales of laughter but the humour was gone now that the job had started.

 

[Asemir]

Caddell would get his target, alright. Successfully duping the guard with his trickery and effectively spooking the man in the process. The would-be-guard scampered off, telling anyone who would listen that there was something having a go at him and he did not like it one bit. His name was Harold and he did not return for his shift.

Melfa, for her part, made herself as comfortable as she could on the stone floor of her new cell. Stretching out, the Komodo dozed off. At least she would get a good night's sleep before getting her neck stretched the next day.

The key Caddell acquired, as it turns out, only opened the loo.

THE NEXT MORNING

Melfa snored behind her leather muzzle.

 

[Hera]

Hera chortled from inside her nun head covering, her amusement unrelenting as they walked the cobbled street. There was never an 'I told you so' with Hera, but the implication hung in the air.

Where'd he even get this nun stuff anyways? She shrugged off the thought, not putting it past him to rob a nun for what she was wearing at knife point.

Heh. Nuns running away in undies. Nun undies.

She was caught grinning as they approached the gates. She quickly schooled this into a more appropriate nun-like joyfulness. You know, the kind a nun not stuck running away in her undies would feel.

The amusement sobered instantly at his question. She just shook her head at him, her expression stone-walling him. Never a good sign, but then again if it was that bad she'd turn them around.

"Let's just get this over with." She stepped up to the guards, holding up a basket of holy books in her arms. "We're here to give last rites to today's damned," she told them, her voice sweat and eyes wide.

 

[Jeriah Thackett]

"And I would also like to offer..."

Jeriah had spent hours rehearsing what he might say. They needed to check out the poor folk to see how their man was doing and then visit the genuine prison and set a fire. The real prison was more of an Inn with guards. Only the rich, nobles and clergymen were allowed to stay in a prison. They rest were dismembered and sent on their way or consigned to the gallows. He had read up on their religion, modified the garments himself. He had learned all their typical phrases and several prayed. All because he expected a thorough grilling for turning up at the guardhouse without an appointment.

"Right, which rich cunt you here to see?" interrupted the guard.

Jeriah was stunned to silence for a second.

"By the four, I would appreciate it if you didn't swear like..." Jeriah started, only to be interrupted again.

"Please, father?"

"Deacon."

"You're not here to save my friggin soul. I don't have near enough coin. Now who have you come to fleece?"

Jeriah made a good job of feigning taking offence. He puffed out his cheeks and made several noises of protest before replying.

"Lord Higgingbottom," Jeriah replied. The Lord had been in the keep for six years now for being caught financing a minor rebellion in the lands east of here. Apparently he had grown quite rotund lazing around his chambers and being fed by his own personal chef who was allowed to stay on site.

"Alright, Jannis'll take you up. Then you can come read last rites to those that'll have you. Telling you know, got a godless load of scumbags for the noose today."

"All deserve compassion in their last moments in the eyes of the four. Even those damned to the..."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Thackett was mildly offended at not even getting that small chance to show off his preparation for the role before being granted admission.

 

[William de Courcey]

Jeriah's plan had had its usual mix of dash and flair. Quite naturally William had been half expecting it to fail at the first hurdle. He watched with near disbelief as the nun and priest managed to get by the guards with little to no trouble. No one was going to give them any hassle if they'd gotten past the outer perimeter. He had to admire the sheer audacity of just waltzing in.

Slipping down a laneway, he walked around the walls, searching for the right point. Not many seemed to linger near the prison but he didn't just want quiet, he wanted a place that vaulting the wall wouldn't result in him breaking his neck.

It meant traipsing around half the outer wall before finding somewhere secluded enough to plot a plan of attack. The crumbling stone blocks made for perfect hand and footholds. He was up ten foot, then twenty, moving with smooth practiced grace. His fingers closed around a battlement, mantling it to land in a crouch. It seemed to be without even a sentry at the height of day. Afterall, what eejit was going to try to break in to a prison?

He moved calmly along the wall, looking for another vantage point. His next target was the main citadel where the cells were.

 

[Hera]

Hera resisted the urge to pinch the guard's butt as she walked back. Always confused a fellow when a nun pinched his dairy air, but today was not for amusement. The future was murky and concerning enough, she would not add more factors into the mix. They walked quietly through the pallor stench, reaching the spiral staircase towards the upper keep.

The guard went first. Hera spared Jeriah a flickering glance before causally pulling a dagger from her pantie line and jamming it into the back of the guards neck. His gargle of pain quickly ended. Hera sidestepped, smushing herself into the wall to force Jeriah to catch the falling body.

"Alright, in here." She dodged past the mess, opening the door she had conveniently killed him at. It led to a small, unaccompanied cell inside the tower. She wiped her blade on the body, as Jeriah was also left to drag it in.

 

[Jeriah Thackett]

"Did we have to do that by the stairs?" Jeriah bemoaned. The body had awkwardly flopped and nearly taken him back down the stairs with him. Another yank pulled the guards feet over the last flagstone. He continued to grumble under his breath as he dragged the guard deeper into the cell.

"Hide the blade in case we meet another," he muttered.

They padded quietly along the next corridor, reaching a heavy set of wooden doors with large cast iron handles. Thackett turned one as quietly as he could and tugged open the door.

"Fuck me," he murmured as they stepped inside. The wooden floors had been polished, tapestries hung from the walls and the chairs were all covered in colourful fabrics.

"Well, we were worried there wouldn't be enough to set fire to..."

In the other side of the keep where William was currently sneaking around the poor were kept in squalid cells before being amputated or murdered. This waiting room for Lord Higgingbottom - a prisoner - was more pleasant than any house the lower classes could own.

"Pull those tapestries down and we'll set them alight and then..."

"Oh dear, not more of you people after donations for my sins?" came a clipped down from behind them.

Lord Higgingbottom had emerged from another doorway. Thackett's eyes went wide. Not only was he not in chains, but he was wearing all of his finery. He felt a hot rage bubbling up from deep in his gut.

 

[Asemir]

Melfa continued snoring.

 

[Hera]

Hera gave Jeriah an amused glance, sliding the blade back into her panty line with a cheerful whistle. The sight of a nun's bare legs was enough to cause Lord Higgingbottom to double take. The fabric of her robe falling comfortably back over the blade was enough to cause him to freeze.

"Who are you people?" The Lord demanded.

Hera's cheerful whistle died in pitch, fading off. "...All you," she offered Jeriah. She didn't need to be sensitive to feel that rage, it was contorting his features clear as day.

"Wha- Who- Excuse you- what are you doing?" The Lord bellowed, stepping forward with an outstretched hand as Hera reached up to a wall and yanked an elaborate tapestry down.

 

[Jeriah Thackett]

Jeriah looked up at the tapestry that now had a knife sticking through it. There was a soft hiss as the weight of the tapestry started to tug the blade through the fabric.

"Well..." went Thackett. "...that seems a waste of a good tapestry. Might have been worth three hundred."

This was a decidedly difficult turn of events. They needed a fire to distract the guards. What he didn't need was a chase after a nobleman's assassins so the plan required keeping Lord Higginbottom alive.

"I'm sure that would get docked from your pay..." Thackett trailed off. He knew when to waffle and when to get to the point.

"Six hundred gold to set a fire, keep that man safe and maybe help deal with a few guards. Consider it a...trial...with the promise of future employment."

"Besides..." The 'holy man' took a look around the lavish apartments that were considered a prison to the nobility. "...this looks awfully dull. And if not, we'll be on our way with no harm done."

 

[William de Courcey]

Blissfully unaware of the drama in the noble wing, William had gained entry to the upper levels of the prison. All of the security measures seemed focused on the poor misfortunates trapped behind solid metal bars. There seemed to be little concern given to the emptier upper levels.

The routine seemed focused around having as little interaction with the prisoners as possible. Guards seemed to venture inside cells to either throw prisoners in or haul out any fresh corpses from the night before. William bit the inside of his cheek, trying to get his brain working. He could hardly have a gawk through the bars without starting a ruckus and the guards weren't about to oblige him any time soon.

He settled down to wait, praying his nostrils would detect smoke in the next few minutes.

 

[Hera]

Hera ignored the woman walking in, a blissful look about her as she tooooooore the tapestry down in a slow display, creating a satisfying riiiiiiip.

She took a step to the side, her gaze distant and her smile askew as she reached up for another finely woven tapestry.

Riiiiip.

It pooled to the ground at her feet. She bent down, picking them both up and dragging their long lengths to the center of the room.

She glanced around once, then reached her hand out for a candle stick fluttering on a bookshelf.

 

[Jeriah Thackett]

The fire was soon burning nicely. The Lord tied up a small distance away where Jeriah hoped the flames wouldn't reach. If they did then his conscience would not suffer too badly for the old man who had lived such a life of luxury, even after incarceration.

As expected the guards moved quickly. The normal prisoners could be left to burn alive but the nobility who had been permanently imprisoned needed to be moved to safety. The prison guards made good coin letting their families pay for luxuries. There would be questions asked if a lord died here. None for the street rats and thugs.

William de Courcey would be given a nearly clear run to the corridor. Streatham was sitting quietly in the corner of his cell. He was in that corner of his cell and quite dead. Melfa was behind bars on the other side of the corridor.

 

[William de Courcey]

Things started to happen rather fast.

The smell of smoke became apparent even in the other wing of the gaol. It made guards and prisoners alike sit up. The former had the luxury of running, the latter did not. William stayed perched on the rail, watching them make a break for the door. It had barely clanged shut behind them before he vaulted over the side, abseiling down in a smooth controlled motion.

He landed on soft feet. The prisoners were clamouring now, hands stuck through bars and pleading for help. He ignored them, having a hoke around for their main quarry. He found Streatham in the last cell on the left, slumped peacefully in his corner. "Found you at least you eejit" he swore, stooping to examine the lock.

The best artificers didn't ply their trade at the lower ends of the market. The lock was a crude contraption held together by a battered looking bolt. It took William all of seven seconds to deal with it and another four to tug open the rusted and worn door. "'Mon now ya cunt ya" he swore, plodding into the cell.

Concerned, he gave an experimental poke with his foot. The half-orc rolled onto his front and lay quite still. Kneeling, William put his hand to his neck. Cold. The half-orc had been dead for hours.

"Oh bollocks".

 

[Hera]

Hera straightened, a single tear falling down her cheek.

“We’re too late,” she whispered to the air.

And the without further warning, she took off. She kicked out back down the spiral staircase, leaving Jeriah to catch up in her wake. Down, down, down she went, past the ground level she had entered from and deep into the stench. She spilled into the hallway opposite William, her skirts flaring out around her.

“Quickly, we’re not getting out without some help.”

She tossed William a set of keys. She had a second set in her own hand, the source still spilling blood down the stairs.

She began to kick and open cells.

 

[Asemir]

The first arrival didn't wake the snoozing Komodo until he shoved open the wrought-iron cell door. Eyes flickering open, nictitating membranes slowly peeling back from the grog, the beastly woman got to her clawed feet with the haste of a chained tsunami wave encroaching on land.

By the time Hera made it to her own cell, Melfa was standing against the back, gazing at her from behind the leather muzzle expectantly. Couldn't talk for the mask, but a vague gesture of clawed hands jingling shackles indicated she was quite willing to escape.

 

[Jeriah Thackett]

"Not William..." Jeriah worried. Their half-orc companion had skills that could be replaced, but it would be hard work to find another with William's toolset.

Hera didn't answer, she rushed off ahead. He called out but she had already darted down a staircase. He decided it would be best to assume that his voice had been drowned out by the hand bell someone was ringing in alarm. Muttering to himself, he followed after her.

"Hey!"

Thackett's deep grimace had almost been hidden when he turned to the lone guard clattering down the hall after him.

"Aha! A guard, perfect. I seem to be lost could you direct me to..."

"Bastard! You set the fire!"

The guard wasn't an impressive man. He looked in his late forties with a wiry build. There was a stark grey tuft of hair shooting out of the back of his helmet. This was probably someone who had made a lifelong career out of the occupation.

Thackett sighed. "Look, I really don't like handling the physical stuff." His eyes fell to the sword the guard had already drawn. "I wouldn't suppose you would mind waiting for one of my companions to..."

"More of you? How many!?" the guard was clearly agitated now. His fingers had gone white from gripping the hilt of his sword. Jeriah looked around to see if any more guards were coming. Or if his crew was within line of sight.

"Why don't you just give me your sword, go help you friends deal with what is really a very small fire on the scale of things and..."

"You can have my fucking sword alright..."

With the predictability of a storm on a hot summer's evening in Alliria the guard brought up his sword and swung it down for Thackett's chest. There was a soft slapping noise.

The tip of the blade had stopped inches from his throat. The middle of the blade was held between Thackett's palms.

The guard looked shocked. Thackett looked surprised too, but in a pleasant way. He pulled one hand from the blade, turning the palm towards the guard. He muttered a word in a foreign language. As he spoke it almost felt as if somewhere a chime had rung out. The palm snapped forwards.

It struck the guard's plate ineffectually. The guard released his sword and stumbled back a step. Both of them had expected slightly more to happen. Jeriah let out a resigned sigh.

"Figures," he muttered, brow creasing in disappointment. "Well then..."

He gripped the sword with both hands and swung it. The pommel clocked the guard on the side of the helmet and he dropped.



"What are you two doing?" Jeriah called out as he barged past a pair of thugs charging the other way.

"Here, take this," he said, offering the sword to William. He looked as if he couldn't stand to hold it any longer.

"Careful Hera!" he called out when he saw the willful seer looking at the muzzled komodi.

 

[William de Courcey]

There wasn't much time for mourning. William just about managed to catch the keys before they broke his nose. Hera tore past him to unlock cell doors and kick them open. Some of the prisoners had prayed for divine intervention but they hadn't expected it to be a wild eyed woman dressed as a nun.

He started copying her, working down the opposite of the corridor. He'd barely opened the first door before the prisoners were shoving past him, almost stampeding in their haste to escape before the fire or guards reached them.

"You're welcome!" he roared after them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Jeriah's voice sounded by his ear. "I'm not-" he started to say as a sword was shoved in his hand but the conman was already pushing past to get to Hera. He followed, cradling the sword.

"Ah bollocks" he said when he caught sight of the komodi. Their half orc had been big, this one was even bigger. He gripped the sword for reassurance though his knowledge was limited to stabbing with the sharp bit. "Can we leave now already?!"

 

[Hera]

Hera wavered without confidence in place, an ache creeping across her temple as a thick veil of uncertainty clouding over her inner vision.


“But we need it,” she croaked, feeling helpless.

She stared at both her comrades, a vulnerable edge to her gaze as it soaked up their faces like a lovers goodbye. She turned away with no fan fare, fingers shaking as she jammed the keys into the jail lock.

“Don’t kill us,” she practically prayed, her unsure gaze locking on the Komodi. Then she did the most impolite thing. She stretched out her thoughts to Melfa’s and gave her the promise, Friends.

The cage door swung open, Hera’s slim form the only thing in the way of Melfa’s freedom.