Your impromptu conversation is interrupted by the sound of metal scraping at one end of your stone cell. There is a brief silence, and then a rusty squeal as something slides into or out of place and the iron door is shoved open. Torchlight blinds you. Around you, the other prisoners groan and stir. You hear the tromp of mailed feet on stone, and as your eyes adjust to new light, you discern the silhouettes of several guards, two of whom set a large, wooden trough on the floor. "Alright, eat," one says, and both step back. Almost before he has finished speaking, several of the emaciated bodies around you have risen and shuffled forward. The first plunges its hands into the trough and scoops up a mass of gray gruel. The rest follow suit and begin to gulp down the gobs of sticky substance.
Note
The cell around you is larger than you thought: perhaps four by five meters, crammed with near-naked, pale bodies. There are maybe fifteen other slaves in the space, including those with whom you've been speaking. The walls and ceiling are of hewn granite. There is but one entrance, the iron door through which the guards entered, and it is built into a short recess in the center of one of the narrower walls.
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As the door opens, Crockus realises he had been sitting right next to it. The step back taken by the guards is an opportunity for Crockus to attempt to trip the closest guard. Hopefully it will create a clatter as the guard falls on that behind him, and enough of a mess for Crockus to discretely grab the keys that are nicely dangling from the guard's belt....
(sorry for the deleted post, I'd left a few typos in the post!)
The sudden light illuminates Number Seventeen Mouth, a wiry and dirty but otherwise quite attractive young woman trying to give her prettiest smile to the guards.
However, the ingratiating expression quickly becomes a mix of wide-eyed shock and pursed-lipped calculation once Crockus starts making a ruckus. If the guards draw/ready weapons or if Crockus looks as if he's trying to take it further, she will leap up to his aid, attempting to flurry-punch the most distracted-looking one. Otherwise, she'll just try to figure out what he's doing while getting ready to (feebly) haul him back into the cell.
OOC: Would it be Wits+Awareness or Perception+Awareness to see if she notices the grab for the keys? And does the door appear to have an inside keyhole?
Arana moves as the door opens, slipping next to the hinge. He peers out through the crack. If he does not see many guards, he jams a pick into the hinge to disable it.
Unfortunately, the door opens outward, and opens rather quickly despite its weight, so Arana isn't able to get next to the door, look through the crack, find a hinge, and jam a pick into it before the guards enter. He does, however, find himself next to the entrance, opposite Crockus, when the guards enter.
Four guards are visible in the flickering light: the two who carry the trough forward, one who stays in the short recessed entryway, and one who stands outside of the door, watching, hand on sword hilt.
Crockus' foot slips behind the ankle of one of the guards as he steps away from the trough, and he stumbles backwards, falling into the guard behind him, who staggers and struggles a moment under his companion's sudden weight. (He doesn't appear in danger of falling, merely surprised and suddenly occupied.)
As the guard loses his balance, Crockus reaches out and nabs the dangling keys off his belt. No one appears to have noticed. [Those of you who want to see if you notice can make a Perception + Awareness roll, standard difficulty.]
[Alone among you, Number 17 Mouth notices Crockus's theft.]
The second trough-carrying guard throws a glance over his shoulder at his entangled comrades. Seeing their state, he unsheathes his sword and takes a defensive stance in front of them. "You louts stay where you are," he says.
Unless any of you choose to intervene, he stands half-crouched, one hand holding a torch aloft, the other brandishing his blade while he stares around warily. He remains this way for the few moments it takes his fellows to disentangle themselves.
The tripped guard stands bruskly and glares around the dim cell, settling his gaze on an emaciated man kneeling next to the trough. "You," he growls. "You'll pay for that, you will."
His backhand sends the man sprawling on the stone floor. "Try to trip me, you would. You like what you get?" He raises his iron-shod boot to stomp on the prone slave.
"No, please!"
The woman who speaks must be Mina Starkweather, though her voice has changed subtly. Gone is the bravado, replaced with a fluttering, desperate note. She's very tall, a face that's pale beneath the dirt, with hair in two thick black braids twisted up behind her head.
"It was my fault. It was an accident. I didn't mean to trip you, it's just so dark. Please, don't hurt him." Mina looks sorrowfully at the guard, who [unless he's a very elite sort of guard] probably can't fail to notice the curves protruding from her tattered clothes even as he notices the vulnerable tremble to her limbs and lips.
[If you want I can roll a manipulation + performance to tug at his heartstrings and prevent the prisoner from being curb-stomped, or I could roll an appearance + performance to make sure his eyes stay on me while other characters do their thing.]
[Update: Arana also notices Crockus' theft of the keys.]
The man falls to the ground at Arana's feet, raising his bony arms to protect his face. As the guard raised his foot up, Arana bends down and grabs the slave's wrist, turns, and walks purposefully to the back of the dark cave, dragging the slave behind.
Number Seventeen Mouth takes another look around before edging back into the depths of the cell.
1) On the door frame, does the recess for the bolt appear to be made for a flat bolt or an angled one (the latter not needing a key for re-locking)? That is, is there anything like a slightly curved plate to help a spring-loaded and angled bolt into position? And on the edge of the door, does the bolt protrude or is it still withdrawn completely into the door?
2) Is there a keyhole on the cell-facing side of the door?
3) Do any of the other guards appear to have keys?
If the door looks as if it requires a key to lock and no one else has any, 17 will whisper to Crockus, "Maybe trouble. They can't lock it without these keys. Either they'll search you or send for more. To be safe, you better give them to me or him."
If the door has no inward-facing keyhole but seems to have an angled/spring-loaded bolt, 17 will stop by the bowl and hastily slurp down a double-handful of gruel. She will appear to have spilled some on her sleeve, and will suck on the sleeve. As she does this, she will back away from the food (toward the door again) to let other people eat, partially withdrawing her arm from the sleeve as she does so. She will then crouch by the bolt side of the door, ready to spring into action when the guards start closing it. Taking the Aim action for the bolt recess.
In the unlucky circumstance that a key seems required to lock the door and there is no cell-facing keyhole, 17 will just grab some gruel, sit by Crockus and Arana, and ponder.
The sickly man noisily retches in the corner.
[It would be very useful for me if somebody interacts with my character. Right now he's very sick, having just walked for days with no rest or food, and he's not good for much unless someone pokes him somehow.
Also, it would be good if the retching distracts or repulses the guards]
Mina's tremulous voice and subtly seductive motions draw notice throughout the room. The first trough guard lowers his foot and looks her over. "So it was you, was it? You are a pretty one." He brushes Mina's cheek with a meaty hand. "Think I know a way you could make it up to me."
"Haran!" comes the harsh hiss of the rear guard. "There isn't time. Give 'em their food and let's move on."
Meanwhile, Arana unceremoniously drags the prone and loosely babbling slave to the rear of the room, while the sharp-nosed guard who holds the sword grimaces and looks away from the raving and retching slave in the corner.
Number 17 Mouth manages to scoop a mouthful of gruel and glance at the door that stands open a short distance ahead of her. She notices the following: the doorframe (as such) doesn't have a curved plate; the door itself is held open by the last guard at such an angle that she can't see the bolt very well; there doesn't seem to be a keyhole on the inside, but because of the angle of the door, it is hard to tell. She grabs another handful of gruel and sits beside Crockus.
The guard named Haran gives Mina one last look-over. "Be seein' you, peach," he says and steps back around the trough. "All right, you heard the man," his sword-holding partner calls out. "Eat up!"
The two stand ready and wary while the starved slaves around you rush the gruel trough. [Feel free to join them if you like, or, for instance, to feed or help any of the injured or ill now present in the cell.]
The gruel trough empty, the guards step forward and hoist an end each. Before carrying it away, the sword-wielding guard turns to his larger partner. "You wanna take care of that sick one in the corner?" "No," says Haran. "You?" "Naw, leave him."
Thus--unless any of you wish to take actions before the guards depart--you are locked again in the dark, the acrid stench of vomit for the moment drowning out the reek of sweat.
Crockus gives a small appreciative nod to 17, grabs a couple of handfuls of food (of which he eats one) and proceeds to check up on the sick man. He deftly and quickly takes a pinch of powder from a sack dangling around his neck and hidden under his shirt, mixes it in a moutful of food and feeds it to the man. (This is to heal him a bit). Meanwhile, he quickly whispers in the man's ear: "Eat this, it will help you. I will attempt to use your condition to improve our situation. Know that you risk nothing and will get better with this medicine, rest, food and water so do not panick."
When the guards mention taking care of the sick man, Crockus stands straight up and talks to the guard at the back who's been giving orders. He talks with authority, in a direct way and his voice shows he is used to giving orders and being obeyed.
"I am a healer, this man needs urgent attention but I do not have any herbs to cure him. Take me to your medicine room or your kitchen, for me to select the appropriate herbs and cure him. If he goes unattended, the disease will spread, fast, especially in these wretched conditions, and your new stash of slaves will become useless. Take me with you."
[Roll manipulation + performance or manipulation + presence.]
The sickly man moans weakly as Crockus touches him, and seems unable to move under his own power. Lost in a hazy world of illness and delirium, he does not acknowledge the healer, but as Crockus pushes the gruel into his mouth, he does not choke. Whether this is due to his awareness or Crockus's art, there is no way to know.
Arana steps forward and crouches next to the trough. He tastes it cautiously. If he senses anything amiss [is a roll required?], he tells the group what he senses. If it is ok, he eats the gruel. If enough time passes, he will begin to address the injuries of those in the room.
Arana is unable to discern anything amiss in the gruel.
The two trough guards, who were carrying the empty food vessel from the cell, hesitate as Crockus's words ring through the chamber. The one called Haran glances over his shoulder, gives a sneering chuckle, and the two march out the door. The third guard, too, has left. Only the one who had been in the rear remains visible, holding the door wide. He stands authoritatively, wearing a lamellar tunic and greaves of deep red over thick leather pants, a straight sword and a whip hanging from his belt. His gaze meets Crockus's. "Your words have been heard," he says, and his speech has a softness to it. He closes the door and you hear the bolt slide into place. You are left in the dark to treat your fellows.
[Unless anyone has anything specific to do other than aiding your comrades in the next ten minutes or so game time, the following happens.]
After a short time, you hear footsteps again. The bolt is undone and the door heaved open. The same authoritative guard stands haloed in torchlight. "You, healer." He gestures to Crockus. "Come with me." He waves toward someone in the corridor. "Take the rest. Leave the sick one." At his motion, four armed guards tromp into the cell and begin hauling prisoners to their feet. Everyone but Crockus and the sick man collected, they are led into the hall and away.
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