OOC:Whoever wants to be :goodjob:

Edit: Just rp guys ive got it covered.

OOC: Well then, seeing as how Francis is delightfully mad, high security it is!

IC: Francis sat in his cell, on his in a lazy kneeling position, he was in a state of awareness that was granted to him when he prayed to his deity, Boethiah. The god of deception had been sending him messages ever since he received the letter from "Black Inc.". Flowing in and out of consciousness, in and out of reality, Francis began to rock back and forth, in front of him was a crude altar, on it sat the shiv he made with Daedric runes inscribed on it along with a burning candle. Demonic whispers began to fill the air.

"FRANCIS!" Once again shouted the Imperial Guard-woman, she had flung open the heavy door, just to see a huge black shadow hunching over Francis, as if whispering something in his ear. Coolly, Francis opened his eyes and came back to reality, he got up from his kneeling position and sat on the bed, trying to collect himself from the things his dark god had told him. Slowly, he turned his head toward the women, Grace was her name.

"What do you see before you my dear?" He asked, monotone with his wording.

"A madman doing whatever in the nine hells a madman does in his spare time. Francis, what was that thing I saw? Tell me something ridiculous and you'll get the butt of my spear in your ribs." Replied the attractive guard, her words trembling.

"Twas my master, dear Grace, a god you should be very familiar with. After all, many of the men you and your colleagues have sentenced to death have been followers of."

"You mean to tell me, that a dark god communed with you... in this prison cell?" She asked, although she was telling herself not to believe it, she knew it to be true.

"Grace, may I ask a boon, if you will?" Francis asked after a pause.

"What?"

"I will be escaping today. I shall need your help to do so. Not with leaving the cell, as I have already done so in the past, but with the insufferable cat you call your captain. I will need him out of the way. You realize what I ask, no?" Francis stated the vague plan to Grace, who slowly lowered her guard with each word he spoke. She took a minute, and finally came to a decision.

"When do you leave?"

"As soon as you kill him. Then, you shall ride out of the prison with the first departing caravan, do you understand?" The madman concluded, getting up from his sitting position on the bed, tucking his shiv into his thick belt and blowing out the prayer candle. He then walked over to Grace, who seemed to be in a bit of trance. Francis grabbed her by both arms and planted a passionate kiss on her lips.

"Now go my sweet, and do as I say." He said, sending the befuddled guard out of his room, closing the door behind her. He then lay back on his bed, getting the atl-atl out from beneath his mattress and laying under the bed, within reach, out of sight. He also took a few minutes to get his regular clothes on, many heaps of thick cloth, finishing with his black facemask.

He then re-lit his candle, set his shiv next to it, and resumed praying.

OOC: I'm beginning to scare myself. :blink:

Karst was tucked into the hole in the wall that served as her sleeping quarters. The small Khajiit had laid on the sorry excuse for a bed her cell contained for half an hour, staring at the letter and the emblem thereupon before drifting off to sleep. Her left arm hung off the slightly raised platform her 'bed' was on, the clawed digits twitching every now and then as she slept, her letter still partially grasped in her hand.

At the sound of someone tapping on the metal of her cell door, her nose twitched and she awoke with an unladylike snort. Pulling herself upright, Karst blinked sleep from her eyes as she regarded her door with tired interest, wondering how long she'd been out. "Who izzit?" she mumbled groggily.

"Food, little fuzzard," the voice of her guard laughed and let himself in. When he looked down at her, the sight her with her shirt off, her hair messed up and a sincerely confused look on her face made him laugh more. "Grabbing a catnap, are we, Karst?"

"I've been here two months already and still, you've yet to run out of creative ways to be racist, Ed," she commented casually and hopped to her feet, walked three feet and fell lazily into a chair.

"I'm not racist, really. I just enjoy watching you glare indignantly at me," he said and presented her with her dinner: a bowl of potato-and-chicken soup on a plate with some crackers and a pewter spoon. Turning her bright green eyes up to the Imperial, she raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"What, nothing to drink tonight? C'mon, you're not still mad at me for the fight I started earlier, are you?"

"Actually, no. I recalled you mentioning a liking for whiskey, so," he pulled a metal flask from his pocket and set it before the Khajiit. Her eyes lit up like a child with a new toy. "Here ya go."

Suspecting a trick, Karst popped the container open and gave it a tentative sniff, then made an odd face. Setting her hand flat against the opening, she turned it upside down quickly, then replaced it on the tabletop and licked her hand. "Where did you get this from?"

"What, no 'thank you?'" he chuckled, watching Karst roll her eyes at him.

"Okay, so you were nice to me once. Whaddaya want, a profession of my undying love?" Karst retorted, then sighed as he continued to stare harshly, "Thank you, Sir Edmund." she muttered reluctantly.

"That's better. And we have a bar in the barracks, if you must know." He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth. He knew Karst well enough to see her next question a mile away. The way her ears perked up confirmed it before she even opened her mouth.

"You have got to take me there. Just once," the feline begged, but knew the answer from the mocking laugh she received in reply. Her perky ears fell, a sigh of dejection escaping her. She attempted to look as cute as she possibly could when she faced him again, "Please? You can chain both my legs to the stool."

"No," Ed laughed.

"I'll give you twenty gold," Karst offered. A slight shake of the head and more laughter was all she got. Furrowing her brow, she tried again, "Thirty and a kiss?"

That one evoked even more laughing. "No, Karst,"

Karst put her face in her hand for a second, then snapped her fingers and looked back up, "Forty gold -all I've got- a kiss and I'll spend the next week naked."

Edmund held his gut as he roared with mirth. Karst leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed and a bemused look on her face. "As tempting as that sounds, no. I could lose my job for that one,"

"You're no effing fun, you know that?"

"I don't get paid to be fun, Karst,"

The Khajiit sighed, then ate her meal, savoring the paltry amount of hard liquor. When she was done, she held her dishes up for him and watched him start to leave.

"Wait!" she cried suddenly, standing up so quickly that her chair fell over. Ed looked at her like she was mad. She went back into adorable begging mode. "Can I at least have some time outside? I swear I'll behave,"

"You're pathetic, you know that?" the guard shook his head, laughing in disbelief at the gall of it all.

"Pweeease?"

"Oh, fine," he conceded, "C'mon. You slept through your last one anyway, so you can have a little longer than usual," he held the door open for her, grabbing her wrist as she came through, "If I get bothered because of your shenanigans, though, I'm going to beat your ass." He warned.

A couple minutes later saw her walking out into the yard again. Inhaling the sweet scent of fresh air, Karst traipsed down the stairs, found a quiet spot in the shade and laid down on the soft grass to eavesdrop on the others, as was her hobby. I hope that letter was serious. As good as the room service is, I'm not fond of living in a cage.

ooc: Dialog makes for longness. Apologies for the obscene length.

OC: pretty... awkward post i should say

IC: Saul not unwillingly knowing what shakk happen at midnight tonight, he thinks to himself, "perhaps these letters are serious... what if they do try to break out"
As the hot sun roars heat onto Saul, he sweats, not eagerly believing thse strange letters, but also being paranoid, he notices prisoners will do anything to get out of here.
He draws his crossbow and looks at Jerome without reply.

"Maybe... ill come back in a little while... Jerome... Sir" he says without ever glancing upon Jeromes face

Saul being called to check out the prisoners with a few other guards he then goes to the cells, past the vaults, to the closet like cells, to the holding cells, picks up a trolly of meals for the prisoners based only on leftovers from last nights meal, mixed dry ales and other liquors, dry stale bread with mold starting to grow, old dry meat starting to harden along with soup containing bits of bone, dust and assorted meats, a terrible meal he thinks to himself, why he should feed orcs, redguards and imperials this when they should be put down.

As he walked down with a few other guards, one guard rolling the trolly, while him and two others watched his back in the corridors.

"Lookie here, cell 12, obnoxious bunch of imperials" said the guard

"Get back you scum, i aint afraid to put a few bolts in ya..." Saul said with a eager warning, "Calm down..." said his colleague

The guard placing food in the cells for the imperials, Saul vulgarly spitting in the tall imperials meal, calling him down with rude remarks yelling "Back kinsmen... bahh... if i could put you down where you stand"

till cell 20 to 1 they were about to leave, cell after cell was the same crap, frightened prisoner after prisoner...

"Oh wait hold on guys, we forgot one here... cell number 7..." he said, looking around, no one inside, "huh this... "Cyrus" must be out in the courtyard breaking rocks or getting whipped" he thought to himself, look at the paper attached to the side of the door that was written the cell number, name and race of who is residing in the cell and why they are in Alkatroz and a short description on what they did.

"Hey boys, keep an eye on this... "Cyrus" used to be apart of our navy... watch out for this one, he seems like he could do bad things if we take our eyes off him"

"Shut it Saul! now lets get going we have to get back to the courtyard!" the guard exclaimed to Saul

Saul hastily placing the meal inside cell number 7 and catches up with the others. Very hot and dry down in these cells he thinks, the four walking past more cells and cells and past a vault, along way up the stairs to the surface, such a narrow stairway to the doors. they finally reach the door to the courtyard, catching a breathe of relief from the stairs, the four part ways till next shift.
Time quickly past as Saul made it back to the courtyard, Saluted Jerome and waited for a reply.

Larry was stirred out of his day dream by a stranger, a young looking dunmer who by the appearence of his shackles was a mage. "You should try it, it's alot better than it probably looks." He added with a slight smile, he appreciated the mans company, it had been a long time since he had spoken to someone other than himself. He was about the make a comment about the weather, and whether or not the mage was aware it would stay, but a newcomer arrived and addressed the dunmer.

Larry sighed, Just my luck. he thought. He was more then happy to have people to sit with. But he hated not being in conversations, he felt like a true outsider, as if he was just there to make the other two look more sociable. He smiled briefly at the other mage and rested his head down against his folded arms again, hoping the other two would begin talking magic business and bugger off to one of the other benches. Godamn mages.

When the Imperial turned his head to peer up at him, Raves was startled by the vibrance of the man's eyes. "You should try it, it's alot better than it probably looks."

Raves grinned, encouraged that the Imperial didn't snap at him, but rather replied with a light humor of his own. This was someone he could get along with, he decided.

But before the budding conversation could come to any more than that, a weight settled on the bench beside Raves, and a new voice made itself known. "I see you wear these same ugly green bracers, dark elf," said the Altmer newcomer. "You don't mind if I sit hear for a while? I assume not, and thus I shall. " Raves sniggered at the Altmer's flippancy. "So, what do you specialize in? A Dark Elf, so I assume you're not in here for necromancy related charges."

The Altmer's face was sort of familiar, in the same way that everyone's face was familiar here (There were only so many inmates, after all; you were bound to run into a couple in the practice yards more than once). The other mer was ridiculously tall (like most Altmer), and the robe he wore had probably once been fit for a king. Not so much now, though.

The young mer, for his part, was more than happy to engage anyone who did not want to beat him up, so smirked and settled into a more comfortable position on the bench.

"Despite what these gaudy pieces of jewelry might broadcast," Raves said, "I'm not really a mage. I'm just a thief who knows a couple convenient tricks, really. No easier way to rob a Telvanni Tel than a judicious combination of levitation, invisibility, and slowfall." He winked. "Why do you ask; are you a necromancer? If so, I'm sure my Dunmer heritage requires me to be morally outraged or something." He shrugged and grinned again, tossing a glance over at the Imperial.

His face fell as he noticed that the Imperial's head was back in his arms. Was something wrong? Careless of the man's personal space, Raves reached his hand over and nudged the Imperial's shoulder. "Hey, what about you? What are you in for?"

Larry was surprised to see the dunmer asking him a question, he smiled awkwardly at the dunmer but was glad to be in the conversation, even if it was about his past. "Nothing much really, the usual I suppose." He suggested, shrugging as he sat up and began to look at the two elves infront of him, "I probably only learnt to walk to steal someones wallet." He joked and pushed out a weak smile, his usual reaction to someone asking why he was locked up. He looked to the Altmer, the mage who was now the outsider of the conversation. Funny how that works. Larry thought to himself as he began to anolyze him, he needed something to take the conversation away from him, he really didn't want to have an awkward conversation - not with this dunmer anyway, "What are you in here for?" He asked, wondering if he was going to be the only person that would give a straight answer out of the three.

A thought crossed his mind of sharing the information about the letter he recieved today, would they know? Would they talk about it? He knew he didn't want to wait out here until midnight on his own, he prefered to plan things with people he knew, trust was hard to come by - Something Larry knew so much about it'd made him almost paranoid on the topic. He'd been double crossed more times than most in his life. But did he have a choice? Was he that desperate to get out? A frown grew across his brow as he became lost in the question.

"Despite what these gaudy pieces of jewelry might broadcast," The Dunmer replied "I'm not really a mage. I'm just a thief who knows a couple convenient tricks, really. No easier way to rob a Telvanni Tel than a judicious combination of levitation, invisibility, and slowfall." He winked. "Why do you ask; are you a necromancer? If so, I'm sure my Dunmer heritage requires me to be morally outraged or something." He shrugged and grinned again, tossing a glance over at the Imperial.

Elusmyr chuckled wryly. "Yes, necromancy is one of my many, many considerable talents and skills. But since you're Telvanni, I assume you won't mind in the slightest, from what I've heard of your house. Unholy, decedant, backwards, cultists of necromancy, as a colleague in the mage's guild once put it." He grinned again. "I haven't properly introduced myself, I am Elusmyr, I hail from the Summerset isles, born to the noble Surl family of mages. And until recently, a Wizard in the mage's guild. But thats a long story".

Elusmyr noticed the Dark Elf turning his attention to the Imperial. "What's wrong with you, blunt ears?" He snapped callously at at the Imperial. Elusmyr hated Imperials. Of course, he had never much expressed this in the guild. The plae was run by Imperials, in the Imperial capital. It would not have boded well for him if he had shown any signs of above average racism. But this was prison and there were no such worries, especially this meek and uninteresting blunt ear. He had always been a sound supporter of resistance against the empire. If the rumours from the isles were even vaguely true, there might be an attempt at freedom soon. Elusmyr stared off into the distance, wishing he would be there to witness it. Maybe he would be.

OOC: NINJA'D! RAAAAAAAAAAGE >:o

OOC: Not sure what Fox had in mind, but I'd like to join the festivities, at least in a small way. If you would like to come talk to my restrained maniac feel free, I promise some interesting dialogue Nonetheless, I wouldn't want to sit in my cage all day, I'm missing all the fun.


IC: "Hanniel, yard time, if you'd like." Trenus opened the small eye slot once more, flinching as he caught the Dunmer's maroon eyes inches away from his own.

"Quite," Baal chuckled softly, "Jacket and mask then?"

"You know the drill," Trenus muttered dully. Baal could tell he was uneasy letting him out, but sunlight was one thing the prisoners were still allowed, even the worst of them. He heard faint mutterings from the other side of the door, Trenus confirming with his fellow guard at the outside door.

Baal continued chuckling, lowering the leather mask from its knob on the wall, his mad giggling persisting through the slits in the mask as he fixed it to his face, trying the straps in the back tightly. No use trying to get away with anything, Trenus was still watching him, and he'd check the restraints before unlocking the outer door regardless.

He slid the rough fabric of the strait jacket over his thin arms, then proceeded towards the far wall, placing his hands against the solid stone, feet spread, waiting for Trenus. The guard slid the eye slot back, and Baal could hear the jingling of keys for a moment as the Imperial found the correct one for the lock, then the faint sound of tumblers as he unlocked the heavy iron door. Light streamed into the dim room as the fully armored Legionnaire strode inside, closing the door behind him as the lock slid back into place.

The heavy gauntleted hands fumbled with the jacket's ties, Trenus' eyes no doubt trained on the back of the Dunmer's slim neck, his slicked hair sheening in the torch light. Finally the man finished, Baal's bloody hands secure behind his back, then put in iron cuffs once more for good measure. Baal let the man lead him outside, rapping the outer door three times so the other guard, Louis, would let them through.

The door to outside was several stories up, Baal's room one of the deepest and most secure in the prison. In a strange way it gave the Dunmer a feeling of satisfaction, knowing his own importance, his own infamy. He walked up several flights of stairs, past several dim hallways, and a multitude of loud prisoners, growing silent as they saw him pass. He smiled under the leather mask, his small pearly teeth flashing dangerously.

Finally he could see it, sunlight, bright through a door at the end of the corridor. The sounds and smells of the prison yard were nearly overpowering, but Baal breathed them in deeply nonetheless. An occasional break from himself was a welcome retreat, especially if some of his fellow prisoners were brave enough the speak with him again. The last one had killed himself, Baal remembered it well.



OOC: He'll be in one corner, behind a set of bars. Like I said, you're welcome to talk to him, but I really came down to hear this announcement. I've got the feeling he'll be number one on that list of executions

(Or would he already have been killed for murder? Eh, whatever)

ooc: I'll take your challenge, Darkom! Up and at 'em, kitty. *kicks Karst*

ic: Karst listened to the pvssyr of the prisoners around her. Most of them were just idly chatting, a few of them that'd not met before asking what each was in for. She giggled as she realized it reminded her of kids comparing their accomplishments in practical joking. Karst liked to think that she would have won most of those debates had she been allowed a real childhood. She'd heard most if it before, all in the regular prison in the City, and as such, the Khajiit found herself becoming bored. Why can't things here be more interesting?

As if the Gods themselves had heard her, she heard the doors to the yard open, and a man was brought out, restrained and masked, for what she assumed what a breath of fresh air. She didn't recognize him, but she'd only been here a couple months and figured she hadn't seen the whole of her fellow inmates. Sitting up in her patch of shade, she observed this man as he was placed in a corner in the sun, and felt the urge to go and say hello, if his escorts would let her. Shoving herself from the ground with a small grunt, she habitually dusted herself off -not that it mattered given the state of her clothing- and approached him.

"Hey, is it okay if I talk to him?" Karst inquired of one of the men near him. He laughed.

"Your funeral, Khajiit. Have at it," the Legionnaire chortled.

Cautiously, Karstine padded up to the man. She wondered what he'd done to earn his stay here. Obviously it'd been worse than her crimes to earn him that outfit, but somehow she didn't quite have the courage to ask. Tilting her head to the side a notch and swiveling her ears forward in a friendly manner, she smiled at him.

"Heya. I don't think I've seen you about, before. I'm Karst," she said, halting herself from offering a handshake he could quite clearly not return and trying not to let her voice betray how much he made her uneasy. It was the mask. It had to be. "Would you.. like some company for a bit?"

OOC: Well, damn, seems I'm missing out now aren't I? I guess I'll throw a wrench in the gears of my plan.

Francis was out of his prayers, now laying on his bed he felt a feeling of tiredness. Truly, prison was now taking its toll on the still young Breton, days were now folding in on the themselves and becoming long periods of quietness with little to no natural light. Light. The warmth of the sun was something Francis had missed, and not seen in quite some time. The last time he had seen and felt the sun's life-giving rays was 2 months ago, when he had caused a commotion with a rather large Orc, getting Francis a black eye and being thrown back into his cell with fewer rations. When I leave this retched place, I'll spend two days laying on a beach, eating crab and soaking in the beautiful rays, Francis thought.

"Breton, its your lucky day, you get time in the yard!" The sudden booming voice of an Orcish guard came through Francis' door. Although Francis was truly desiring the sunlight at this point, he had plans to make, and he needed to inform Grace to hold off on killing the cat. But the last though was relieved as Grace opened the cell door, smiling at Francis. He gave her a puzzling look, and she nodded. The sadistic Breton smiled, getting up from his bed, making sure all of his clothing items were in order, namely the shiv in his belt.

"Well, sunlight does sound nice, I believe I'm getting a bit gray in color in this old cell of mine. So then, will shackles suffice, or do we really need to put on that dreadful mask and jacket?"

"Shackles are fine, if you make trouble, I've been given orders to beat you into submission." The burly Orc said in a happy tone, pulling some heavy steel shackles out of a satchel.

Francis walked out of the cell, into the flickering torchlight, he stood against the wall while Grace got behind him with the shackles. She cuffed them onto the Breton's wrists, then put the larger one on his neck, stopping to give his short goatee an affectionate tug. The Orc then bent over and cuffed his ankles. The two fully armored guards then got behind Francis, holding his arms, they began to lead him down the hallway.

After a long walk down the dark corridors the small party finally reached the outside. At the smell and feeling of the crisp, fresh air, Francis had his shackles taken off, and the guards left him with the other inmates. The yard was full of the usual guys, all the races of Tamriel being represented by the huddled groups off in their own little corners.

A particular inmate caught the eye of Francis, a Dunmer. Francis knew him well, despite having never talked face to face with man. Baal was his name. A crazed and ruthless man, he made Francis seem like a petty thief in the criminal world. But Francis had a keen liking of the Dunmer, and had always wondered what he sounded like, how the man spoke. Was he the ordinary brute who simply got lucky with his prey (not likely), or was he a man of Francis' style?

After crossing the yard, Francis got near the Dunmer, sitting on a nearby bench, ignoring the Khajiit who apparently also showed interest in the Dunmer. "Evenin'" Said Francis, his tone cheerful. "A man who rarely sees sunlight, like myself, also does not have the pleasure of speaking to his fellow inmates too often. I have heard of you, Baal is it?"

OOC: [censored] you guys post fast. Time to speed things up a bit more though.

Jerome peaked over at Saul. "Hey, Saul we need to get this event underway now. You know that wooden stage we have holed up in the basemant, I need you and about 4 other guards to help roll it up here. You know how the warden likes to be seen during his speeches." Jerome pulled out a fine piece of cloth out of his pocket and wiped his forehead with it. "I need you to hurry here we're putting this together on a pretty short notice and don't have much time. Now leave me be." Jerome then turned around and got back to work.

Meanwhile in the prison

"Everyone out of your cells now!" Guards started to scream up and down the halls as swarms of prisoners poured out of their cells. And outside the entire yard was starting to be surrounded with guards, and prisoners were really starting to notice that something fishy was going on. Masses were pouring out and filling in every inch of the yard and before long the entire prison courtyard was full with a crowd. There were so many prisoners that it looked like the Alkatroz prison was hosting a political debate.

Then it happened, the crowd started to fall silent. Whispers and short murmur's were constantly echoing through the courtyard. Everyone questioning the event that was going on. But just then a pair of giant gates swung wide open, and out rolled a wooden stage on wheels with several people standing on top of it. And right there, right there on top of the stage was the warden standing proud and tall. Showing his face for the first time for all his prisoners to see.


OOC: Feel free to talk about the warden just don't say what he looks like yet. Act like the sun is blinding you or you can't see over a Nords head.

OOC: Aw, Fox, you ruined all my fun I'll have my reply to Aulakauss and Jonas then, and then deal with your warden. Thanks.


IC: Baal looked up towards the sky, content to watch the clouds pass by. The blue of the sky was really something not to be imitated, art painted with a divine brush, truly a dream within dreams. He was brought out of his musings by the smooth voice of an elven woman, though her scent was unmistakable Khajiit, "Hey, is it okay if I talk to him?"

The Dunmer looked down, finding that his nose had once again been correct, as a stark white Khajiit with a flat Ohmes elven face stood before his guards. He immediately took a liking to the woman, and not simply because her lean and supple body looked absolutely scrumptious.

His fine toothed smile flicked into a sneer under his mask as one of the legionnaires guarding him laughed at the woman, Baal knew it to be the outer-door-man, though he had never caught his name. "Your funeral Khajiit. Have at it."

She approached him slowly, obviously alarmed by his appearance and restraints. However, her head cocked back in what passed for a smile among Khajiit, her eyes innocently adventerous.

"Heya. I don't think I've seen you about, before. I'm Karst," she said, her elven voice faltering, "Would you... like some company for a bit?"

(Please, Jonas, I ignore no one)

Baal smiled at the woman, even if she couldn't see his mouth through the slits of the mask the smile sparkled in his eyes, the points of light dancing in rhythym once more. "Indeed, it would not surprise me if we had not met, dear Karst. Is that your full name- I'm afraid I'm not one for nicknames, they seem too... shallow." Baal chuckled lightly, looking away for a moment, his manner cordial decorum.

"I am Hanniel Baal, Dr. Hanniel Baal, for what it's worth in here. Perhaps you've heard of me, the Courier was quite polite in publishing my exploits some time ago." He tilted his head back up to look at the woman, his smile questing, searching her mind with every curve of her face, every motion in her eyes. Her red brows and mane were a curiosity, though he doubted she had dyed them that way. They seemed almost elven, like her voice, like her eyes; a half breed? An interesting find, Baal had known there was something about this one.

He wanted to press further, to examine every corner of her being, to find what made her seem so... worthwhile, but he was interrupted in short order. A tall Breton sporting strange blonde hair and heavy manacles approached him, a smug look in his emerald eyes.

"Evenin'," the man said, his brightness oddly out of place, almost forced, "A man who rarely sees sunlight, like myself, also does not have the pleasure of speaking to his fellow inmates too often. I have heard of you, Baal is it?"

Baal kept his gaze focused on the white Khajiit, not turning to face the man he had seen approach from the corner of his eye, his musk holding undertones of murder. He gave a final beseeching smile to Karst, "If you'll excuse me, miss, it seems I have become quite the popular fellow," before turning slowly to face the murderer.

The Dunmer's thin nostrils flared, taking in a final summary of the man's scent, 'Something further than blood in him, perhaps he's not as dull as I thought.'

"I don't think I caught your name, my good man," his cheery eyes retained their smile, their swirling sheen of blood, and his tone remained reserved, but a murderous air settled around Baal's words, a veiled threat only a man like this would pick up on.

"'Tis a shame you miss the light, my friend, but far more that you miss company. Such a prison goes far deeper than shackles, or even the odd mask," the aura of death dropped away suddenly, his small teeth flashing between the vertical slits in the leather, his scarlet tongue coated with false honey, "Perhaps soon we might break these irons with blood," he studied the man perhaps more intently than the woman, though his gaze held a differing intent. With the Khajiit it had been for the amusemant of it, but this man he might enjoy breaking.

'All in good time, all in good time,' Baal mused, his smile melting away, "Or perhaps we'll join the others, the iron crushing us under its weight, splitting our necks in a bloody spew." Baal licked his lips eeriely, a far more revolting gesture given his tastes; something he knew quite well, and used it to his advantage whenever he could. His position held a certain authority, why not use it?

Some commotion was occurring over in the main field, the air was filled with the obnoxious squeel of swinging gates, but Baal felt no urge to determine the source. The man before him, and the Khajiit beside him were, to him, far more entertaining.


OOC: Eh, blah dialogue. It's too late to go back and fix, sorry about that, I couldn't keep my promise :cryvaultboy:

Following Jerome's orders Saul rellied on other Mercanaries to help him with the stage, Saul and 4 others run as the wind to bring the stage up, his little merc gang rellied on 2 nords and 2 orcs, so the job can get down faster, he looks around in the dark damp basemant and sees the stage he was meant to bring up, he orders the Orcs to push from behind and the Nords to grab the rope to haul it from upfront.

"Holy this stage is rolling up fast..." he thinks to himself, "Cold-Shield, Skywater, slow down" he yells, "pick up the pace Orgon and Honndoran" as they reach sunlight and into the courtyard they set up the Stage, fast and quick like Saul ordered. Jerome gets on the Stage, and Saul commands the spearman guards to set up perimeter at the front of the stage, he signals the archers and bowman to take position along the walls and up behind the stage, he orders heavily armed orcish brute guards to line formation behind the spearman.

Saul gets up on stage along with Jerome and draws his crossbow, all along the courtyard prisoners fill up, cut throats, murderers, thieves and mages, all convicted of crimes, he sees a pattern of green bands on the magicka users.

Saul looks at the entrance and sees the Warden, the hot Kvatch sun blinding him and the Prison Guard Captain yells "ATTENTION" as all the guards stand their ground and most wave a high salute then standing stright and still, Saul whispers to Jerome.

"whats Gonna happen?" with the sense of bad feelings roaring his heart and butterflies in his stomach, Saul sweating, not only cuz of the hot sun but he was more nervous to see the courtyard filled, he's very aware that a prison riot could start any moment.

Jerome looked right at Saul and answered, "Looky here okay, you don't need to worry about what's going on right now. I've got a special task that I need you to take care of at the moment." Jerome then pulled out a clipboard, or in these times a piece of paper glued to a plank of wood, along with a freshly inked pin and then handed them to Saul. Still unknown to Saul what Jerome's true intentions were, Jerome then suddenly let out a loud whistle noise that seemed to have caught the attention of a couple guards standing on the stage with them. And then right there, as if out of nowhere, a small dog jumped up on the stage with them and started licking Jerome's fingers.

"Saul I want you to meet my friend, Rody. For the next couple of moments he's gonna be your best friend." Jerome then bent down and started to attach a leather leash to Rody. "See Saul, Rody here is going to help sniff out some people in the crowd for us. A few special V.I.P's if I do say so myself. Now Saul pay close attention, cuz I ain't gonna repeat myself again. I want you to take Rody right here and lead him through this fine crowd of prisoners. And when he growls at someone don't do anything at all, just write down the mans name and then move on. When you've feel you've gone through the entire crowd come back here to me with your list of names. I'll take care of things from their." Jerome then bent down and pulled a slip of paper out of pocket. "Come here Rody and sniff this" Jerome said. The dog, obeying his master, walked up and took a good long sniff of the parchment. Taking in smell of everything from the ink on the paper to the ominous stamp of a sword ripping through a book that laid neatly on it's front. As the dog sniffed the contents of the paper, his ears shot up in excitement as he could smell the exact same smell in the crowd already.

Qa'shirr was nudged out of his daydream by Urdlin. The two were standing with the others in front of the stage, waiting for the warden. "Pay attention." He nagged, "Try looking around for the ones with green armbands."

Qash's eyes instead fell on the masked and restrained form of one Hanniel Baal. He had heard the stories about the Monster of Weye, and even though he was standing very far away in the crowd from him, he could have sworn Baal had looked him in the eyes. He averted his gaze and turned his attention back to the stage, waiting for the warden to appear.

As they brought out the dog and it sniffed the piece of parchment, Urdlin's eyes narrowed and his jaw opened slightly with realization, "....The letter was real." He mumbled to himself, not loudly enough for Qash to be able to hear over the din of the crowd.

He grabs the leather leashe from Jeromes hand, the dog taking him all the way to the other side of the courtyard, to the east end of the courtyard and to the west end back where the stage was, and to the centre, all around the courtyard Rody takes Saul all the way to the center of the courtyard... almost an hour looking for the scent the dog known as Rody takes Saul to a mysterious Khajiit, the dog growls at the Khajiit while the Khajiit hisses at him. Saul writes his name down and took Rody back to the stage.

Saul hands Rody's leashe to Jerome and says "That shady looking Khajiit had a strong scent of ink on him, Rody went crazy, heres your clipboard" he said while Handing the clipboard to Jerome,
Saul less worried and paranoid he wipes the sweat of his forehead and looks at Jerome.

OCC: lets hope it aint any of the Khajiit RPer's... what do you have planned Fox?

The restrained Dunmer seemed to regard Karst coolly. To Karst, it seemed he was happy that she had approached, though for what reason she didn't know. She assumed most didn't brave the.. unnerving appearance of his straitjacket and mask to speak with him and he was merely glad for some conversation.

"Indeed, it would not surprise me if we had not met, dear Karst. Is that your full name- I'm afraid I'm not one for nicknames, they seem too... shallow." the mer chuckled gently. She had been about to reply when he went on, "I am Hanniel Baal, Dr. Hanniel Baal, for what it's worth in here. Perhaps you've heard of me, the Courier was quite polite in publishing my exploits some time ago."

Karst was usually too busy burgling houses, working and burying herself in the pleasures of drug and liquor to bother herself with current events, so she hadn't seen his particular issue of the Courier. She had not, in fact, touched a newspaper since the Oblivion Crisis passed, and even then it was only because she'd had a glimmer of hope that there might be something of a scholarly nature about the invading Daedra within its pages, a hope shot down with every issue, much to her chagrin. Again, just as the feline female was about to open her mouth, interruption returned in all its annoying glory, this time in the form of a shackled human. Karst flicked her ears back and swished her tail in an obvious sign of aggravation, but kept quiet while the other man spoke to Hanniel. The only response she gave was a polite nod when he excused himself.

Rude son of a [censored]. Karst thought harshly at the invading human. Like the rest of his race, he seemed to think she didn't matter. After all, she was just a beast, right? Out of a combination of wishing to stay in the yard and a fear of the human -somehow he managed to unnerve her worse than Baal- she protested by merely narrowing her slitted eyes and allowing her tail to continue waving back and forth behind her.

Only at the entrance of the stage did Karst cease her glaring to peek at whatever might be going on. There seemed to suddenly be a lot more people in the yard than usual. One man stood out on the stage, but the sun got in her eyes before she could get a good look at it. Torn between an unexplainable desire to chat with the eerily polite Hanniel and wanting to see what all this fuss was over, Karst remained where she was, but glanced over to try to get a glimpse of anything that might be interesting.

Probably just some Imperial officer showing off. Stupid pigs. Karst decided, making her dislike of humanity in general evident to any telepaths that might be around. While she waited for the other human to be done, she tapped a clawed foot in the grass and cracked her neck idly.

"Everyone out of your cells now!" a guard shouted down the hall. Meer got up from his bed and moved towards the door where the same guard that had delivered the letter was stood waiting. He still looked a little pale but seemed to have regained at least some confidence which probably had something to do with the two large Nords standing behind him. "don't try anything or you'll be on the ground faster than you can say 'Black marsh'." Meer leaned as close to the guard as the Nords would allow smiling "Black marsh" he sid before spitting in the guards face. Almost instantly he was yanked off his feet and dragged down the corridor, getting quite a few laughs from those that were trusted to to enter the courtyard of there own accord.

It wasn't long before he was thrwn out the door and into the slowly filling courtyard. The other inmates continued to swarm in forcing him towards the front. By the time he stopped a combination of the heat and being shoved around had left him in a very irritable mood, the only upside he could see was that there wasn't a single dunmer in sight. The khajiit standing in front of him was looking around for something and he seemed to have found it. Meer followed his gaze and found the one thing he didn't want to see, a dunmer. He let off a low growl and shifted his gaze from the restrained mer and back to the stage in front just in time to see a guard head off into the crowd with a dog. A letter in another guards hand made him open his eyes wide in shock. "It looks like I wasn't the only one to get one and someone was foolish enough to get it confiscated." he said to himself at least he'd gotten rid of the evidence by eating it. He must of said it louder than intended as the surounding prisoners gave him funny looks.

Raves was encouraged when the Imperial still didn't slap him, but sat up to address himself and the Altmer more attentively. His answer to Raves' question wasn't particularly enlightening (he mentioned stealing wallets, so maybe he was just a petty thief, like Raves was), but then, there was always a certain criminal element who knew how to talk you around in circles and make you think they answered your questions when they had it. Raves was always rather intrigued by such people, since he was very much not one of them. A thief and a trickster he may be, but lying was simply not in his nature.

The Altmer introduced himself as 'Elusmyr', and readily confessed to necromancy. Raves did really mind the practioners... honestly, he didn't understand it, and so had decided a long time ago to reserve judgement until he knew more about the school. Sure, messing with the remains of the dead was an all-around icky business, but stealing for fun was hardly upstanding citizen behavior, so Raves wasn't really in a position to pass judgement.

Elusmyr apparently thought Raves was a Telvanni (a mistake often made; apparently, his accent and casual magical knowledge made anyone who knew anything about the Morrowind Houses think so). The young mer was about to correct the Altmer and introduce himself when a pair of giant gates swung open (it was all quite dramatic), and the show began.

Raves pulled himself up to stand on the bench, just so he could see properly (Raves had always had a certain appreciation for theatrics, and so felt it only polite to watch this one unfold, whether it was intentional or not). One of the guards was up on the stage with a crossbow, glowering at the crowd. Someone else pulled out a clipboard and started talking to crossbow-guy, too softly to hear from any distance away in this noisy yard, and a nasty-looking guard dog was produced from somewhere.

Only then did he notice the little bit of parchment in clip-board guys hands, folded up in a way that was eerily familiar. "Son of a witch," he swore softly, realization popping into existence in his head. "They're after the letters."

He shifted his shoe softly, feeling the little piece of parchment crinkle against his foot. What were they going to do to him when they found out? Surely, they couldn't punish prisoners for receiving a suspicious letter? Then again, they were prison guards, so doing so was entirely in their characters.

So much for freedom. Whatever the guards had planned, it was probably going to hurt.

"Letters?" snapped Elusmyr" "You got a letter too? Oh, by the god of worms, we're all going to die! They'll kill us if they find those letters." Elusmyr snatched the letter out of his robe, and sank to his knees, burrowing into the dirt. He knew the dog'd probably smell it anyway, but he had to hide it. Once the hole was bigger he dropped the letter into it and started covering it up. The yard was still filling, and there was still commotion.

Elusmyr stood up again. And he turned his attention to the Dark Elf ad the Imperial before him."Hide your letters" he hissed. "I knew it was a trick, I damn knew it, I knew it all along. I should have thrown it away.. I was going to throw it away, I forgot and then.. It's a trick, they'll kill us. Kill us!" Elusmyr babbled hystericly.

At the random mumbling of the Altmer, Larry assumed this man wasn't used to things going wrong. With a slight smirk on his face he began to tear up his letter into several small pieces, he would occasionally look up to make sure no one could see, but with the crowd that was gathering he wasn't overly concerned about being spotted. After he had a hand full of torn pieces of parchment he placed them into his mouth and began to chew.

He winced in displeasure at the taste and nearly gagged, but after a minute or two of chewing the torn letter he swallowed and the evidence was gone. Happy that he was no longer in trouble, he stood up and began to join the crowd, hoping to blend in a little, he also wanted to get as far away from the other two as possible - He didn't want to be seen conspiring with them f they were caught. For a second he was hit with guilt about leaving the dunmer, he seemed like a nice fellow and contrary to the steriotype - seemed level headed.

But, he gritted his teeth and pushed on through the crowd, hoping the dunmer would pull the same trick Larry had.

"Hey, you get out!" yelled a guard. "Why are you still here? What don't you get about everyone out, huh? You Dummer are dumb; oh that was a good one."
"But not as dumb as Nords like you," Aria said. "Look, just give me a minute..."
As the guard unlocked the cell, she swallowed the scrap of parchment. The oaf grabbed her collar and dragged her into the courtyard. It was the first time since her imprisonment that she had felt the sun. "Nice to feel warmth for one last time," she muttered, sure that she was about to be killed.

The hot sun still roared, prisoners still filled the courtyard, Jerome orders Saul to go for another look as he passes Rody's leashe to Saul, Saul grabs the letter and gives the dog another sniff.
Right away he goes crazy, he leads Saul to a imperial, writes his name down, the dog picks up another scent, it takes him to a dunmer and a redgaurd, he writes their names down, as the dog goes crazier the scent grows stronger. the dog takes Saul to another imperial, then a khajiit, to an Altmer.

after the next hour the dog's trail went cold, no more suspects but one, to a mage with green bracers, tired Saul writes his name down.

"I think thats all of them, Rody get back to the stage!" he pets his ears then they both make their way back to the stage, hands Jerome the clipboard and waits for his reply.

Jerome looked at the clipboard then back at Saul. "Thanks." Jerome then turned back to the matter at hand.

Cyrus Meanwhile was trying to get a good look of the man standing on stage. But he had gone from being out in the open for everyone to see.... to hiding himself behind a large group of guards. It seemed the man was waiting impatiently for something, but what? All Cyrus could see was a small pair of leather boots that paced back and force behind the guards, and for some reason the other guards boots seemed to practically drawf the man behind them. And as Cyrus waited and waited, all of a sudden a rather large Nord jumped up on stage and ran behind the man's curtain of guards. Still only being able to see their feet, Cyrus watched as the Nords feet met up with mysterious man's feet. Both briefly pointed towards each other then turned back around, right before a large guard yelled "Silence" at the top of his lungs. In fact the guard yelled silence so loud that you wouldn't be surprised if he had just stopped time itself, as everyone in the entire courtyard fell dead silent. Everyone was now standing there completely silent now focusing all their attention on the guards. Even Rody had stopped wagging his tail.

As the people of Alkatroz fell silent the guard then stepped to the side. Then the large man-made curtain of guards blocking the warden from view began to split apart as well. All was done to reveal one man standing on stage. His appearance for the first time ever was being shown to the very people he looked after. And there, right there on stage everyone was looking, all in disbelief to what they were now looking at. On stage stood a 4 foot tall wood elf, now looking over the surprised looks of the prisoners faces. This warden was so short in fact you wouldn't be surprised if he was the spawn of a drawf and woodelf who got together and had a child. And now the same thought shot through everyone's mind, How can this midget woodelf be our warden? This caused quite the chain of whispers all throughout the crowd. Everyone now questioning how they've been chained down inside this prison by a 4 foot woodelf.

But then the woodelf stepped forward in his iron curtiass and ponytailed black hair. He then looked upon the crowd once more and then began to speak. "Oh my dear prisoners. Today things have changed around here, after today you will know that in this prison.... no man escapes my iron hammer of justice." He then shot a sharp glance over to Baal and smiled. "And for some of you here..... you're now regretting that you know clearly what I'm talking about. And both of us know that after today, you're going to be spending the rest of eternity under 6 feet of anvil dirt."