Port Lorrel- Prison Break

[Alberich]

And that's how the game of marbles was invented, thought Jack, but he decided to add a different point.

"Now, me, I'd view this from an acquisitive angle. You know how that place works. The guards stick to a lot of money - from the folks that buy out and the ones who get ransomed. Plus the stuff they confiscate.

"And it just so happens I know a man who's locked up there right now - who knows exactly where they keep the pay chest, and all their other valuables. Had the bunk next to mine.

"So what I'd do is, get in there, grab Samuel, grab him too. Get your boss back, grab their best stuff, make a good haul at the same time. I think we'd have to send out warning notes to all the brothels - rest up, gals, and hire some extra shifts." He added with a smile. "And I'm sure we'd be able to afford a bath, too, first."

[Jack Rothwell]

Myra smiled approvingly at Jack's diplomacy.

"There's a plan." She said, jerking a thumb back at the thief. "What do say boys? All those in favor?"

A few discontented looking members of the ragtag group made no gesture but, in the end, the majority of hands went up. Lyman scowled and muttered something about 'bloody insubordination' under his breath before speaking loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Fine, fine! But if it all goes sideways don't forget I told you so! Jessie, Maurice, come with me, I need a walk."

The youngest lieutenant stormed off with his cronies in tow. Myra clapped her hands.

"Right! We move into town at nightfall, keep a watch until then." The crowd dispersed and returned to their duties, such as they were. Desmond grumbled something about being hungry and headed towards one of the campfire. Myra turned to jack and jerked her head in the direction Lyman had buggered off in.

"He's a shithead. Thanks for the help."

............

It was strange being back in the uniform, Gabriel reflected. It seemed such a long time since he'd put one on, he couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious of the clanking plates and gleaming metal in the semi-light of the Zakara ward, a light which grew dimmer as he climbing down the stone steps which led to the basement where his quarry was kept.

No-one had recognized him yet. The few warden's he'd passed since slipping into the building had either seen the uniform instead of the face or simply hadn't looked in his direction at all. As he walked he recalled the description Aleron had given him of the bandit chief before he'd left for the Port; a man in the early stages of old age, a wiry build, a lean face with an ugly scar across the bridge of his nose and a blond-grey scraggle of thinning hair that ran almost to his waist.

He reached the bottom floor of the ward, dimly hearing the faint splash of water running a short distance below his feet.

[Alberich]

"Glad to!" he grinned. "So, while we wait, where do you keep the spare weapons? I could use a couple, and I think we should bring some for the prisoners who want to be liberated." He wanted to be equipped, and was keen to get to some of that "time to kill" she'd mentioned before.

It'd be interesting to see whether these animals had any further concept of planning the operation -- like figuring out in advance who was going first through the grate, and who'd go where afterwards, and rehearsing movements, and arranging a signal for "retreat," and all that sort of thing. If the answer was "yes" he'd take part. If "no" he wasn't going to teach them. He'd assign himself to "Gabriel-rescue" duty and that would be that. That Gabriel might be rescuing himself just fine without him - this did not occur to him.

[Jack Rothwell]

Myra grinned and clapped Jack companionably, not on the shoulder.

"Look at you, straight to business and full of good ideas!" The banditwoman strode across the camp with a 'follow me' gesture to the thief. Progress on the way to one of the larger tents was temporarily impeded by the lieutenant having to shove a pair of wrestling men out of their path, throwing a sarcastic comment at her subordinates as she did.

"Three rules of leadership the old man taught us, that newbie is yet to learn." She talked as they made their way across the small camp. "Rule one, always act confidently, number two, never say 'I don't know' and three, if all else fails, keep them busy." She paused at the tent flap and gestured at the camp, the sweep taking in the brawling bandits, the shuffling feet of bored warriors and the axes being impatiently sharpened. "From the looks of things, that knuckle-dragger didn't enforce any of them." She sighed and pushed her way inside.

The bigger tent was about twelve feet across, patch-worked with furs and carpeted with cloth. The only furnishings were some bedding in a corner and a pair of tables. The tables contained a dozen bladed weapons of various sizes, a pair of crossbows and a huge war-hammer with a metal head that resembled a meat tenderizer.

"Help yourself to one or two, not the hammer, that's Desmond's baby, he only takes it out the tent if something serious is happening." Despite her words, the woman picked the heavy weapon off the table and planted it hilt first on the ground. She held it by the tip and span it on it's axis with a dreamy look on her face.

"I swear, if I can put on another ten pounds of muscle I'm taking it, no matter that big bastard thinks."

[Alberich]

Not bad rules for keeping dogs in line, thought Jack. Or children, perhaps - but he killed that thought. "Children" was not a subject he was comfortable with. "Weapons" was. He took an appreciative look. They weren't up to his preferred standards, but the way he chose to operate, he usually wasn't wielding anything that was. Weapon styles were his strongest suit, in his own estimation, and plain steel was how he liked it.

One of the knives looked right for throwing, and he tried it both over- and underhand into a nearby target. That would do. He hefted several of the swords before picking the one he liked best, and executing a solo sword drill with the confidence of long practice. In truth he wasn't being as subtle as he liked to think he was. The drill wasn't from a Farrelian style. With a different audience it might lead to awkward questions. And really, trying to impress this creature ought to be beneath him. But then, if he tired of such games, what would he do with his life? As he finished the last few sweeps and thrusts of the blade, he spoke.

"Your boss sounds like a wise man," he said, "And he knows something about men. Very important to keep us occupied! Keeps us out of mischief." The last words, with the way he lowered the blade, might be read as an invitation to spar. Or to bed. Or to one and then the other. Or, less likely, the other and then the one. And in truth any of those options suited him.

[Jack Rothwell]

Myra stopped playing with the hammer and propped it against the table. She stepped towards Jack with her hands clasped behind her back.

"You're right about Samuel being wise, not wise enough to keep himself from the lock-up, but smart enough." She stopped a few feet from the man and arched an eyebrow. "There's a few other things he taught me as well..."

Jack's ear picked out the unmistakable sound of steel clearing leather... Myra grinned and struck.

OOC Sparring it is. /OOC

..........

In a corner of the prison, picked out by a single torch. Gabriel finally drew to a halt and stared at the occupant inside. There he was. Samuel Riekstien.

"You're a hard man to find."

The bedraggled old man, clad in tattered rags which did no credit to his bearing, sat on the cot inside the cell. He was slumped, staring at the floor of his confinement, but the voice which replied was strong and unwavering.

"And that's a poor disguise for a criminal." He said, looking up.

Gabriel saw fierceness in the old man's gaze, something which could present an obsticle or an opportunity, depending on a particular question. Samuel continued.

"Word travels fast down here, Captain."

"So I see." He said, and then, flatly. "Where is it?"

"You'll have to be more specific."

"The ebony knife you killed another prisoner with. Specific enough?"

"Oh. That." Samuel looked up at the ceiling as if pondering a great mystery. "What's that information worth to you?"

Gabriel said nothing, but merely tapped the keys hanging from his belt.

"Open the door and I'll tell you."

The Captain didn't bother to argue, if it came to it, he could always take a more violent approach to getting what he wanted. He had no desire to waste time in either case. He craned around to see if the passageway was clear. It was.

He cranked the door open, but made no move from the doorway.

"Well?"

"Morris has it."

Gabriel winced, things had gotten a lot more complicated. As the old man approached the entrance, he put out his hand.

"Wait." He stepped in front of Samuel with a meaningful tap of the weapon he'd taken and took a moment to frisk the old man. He cursed quietly, but colorfully, as he realized Riekstien was telling the truth.

"Satisfied, boy?"

He let the bandit chief pass.

[Alberich]

Ch'ching! - they were off to some vigorous adult exercise.

Between the two, Jack had the most practice by far. But Myra had talent and youthful vigor. And she had no qualm, nor even the tiniest bit of a hint of a smidgen of a glimmering of a qualm about fighting dirty. The rules were unspoken but developed at once: Myra could try just about anything; Jack could aim only for touches and slaps. It hardly seemed fair but so it was.

So, when they were lunging at each other across the table, it was only natural that she seized up the hammer and swept it at him in a sudden blow that could've cracked his skull. And all he could do was duck down to the floor, lash out, and slap her ankle with the flat of his blade. Now if she'd gone down to the floor, he would've been on top of her in a flash, but she kept her feet and he was back on his and they were back on the same side going at it again. She tried to kick the table into his crotch. He kept aware of the terrain and so escaped with just a bruise on his thigh.

To him, there was no doubt she was an animal. But there were animals and there were animals. He'd had a lot of pets and ornamentals over the years. This one was different - like a real wild animal that just happened to be alongside him for a while, not tamed to his whistles nor pouting to demand his affections, and ready to take a chunk out if he wasn't careful...ch'ching! The fight continued.

And then when they'd worked up a good sweat, they locked blades, and she came up with a dagger out of nowhere to ram into his belly, but he caught her wrist in time and flesh met flesh. And her mien changed suddenly to one of sweet, sultry surrender and their blades fell from their hands to the cloth floor as he pulled her in for a kiss...

...and her knee came up straight for his man-parts. He twisted his hips but still took the brunt of the blow with a whuff!. But it didn't disable him - with the life he lived, he had to be able to take some pain and recover. So the swordfight turned into a wrestling match, and in time that turned into a contest of chastisement, and where that went, well...

Meantime, the sounds of improptu wrestling, argument, and the "work of idle hands" had died out in the camp. Small wonder - because the bandits who weren't otherwise occupied were now peeping into every opening in the tent that could be peeped into to see what those two were up to. This may've been a deep game by Myra. She'd well absorbed her chief's admonition to keep the men busy. And sometimes the best way to keep them busy was with things they thought they shouldn't be doing...And it wasn't as if this camp had ever been a place of modesty.

[Jack Rothwell]

Gabriel made his way out of the Zakara ward deep in thought. The problem of finding Riekstien had been replaced by the significantly larger one of getting into the warden's building and finding the artifact, preferably without having to fight his way past the entire regiment of Morris' guard while he was at it. He considered letting the prisoners out, but upon consideration he dismissed it as an option; there were too many men patrolling the blocks, and he had no time to convince unarmed prisoners to fight for him.

He made his way back to the entrance, and there things took a significant turn for the worse.

The Captain opened the door into the glare of sunshine, and the glint of drawn weapons pointed directly at him. Standing before him, flanked by a dozen men, was head warden Morris. He stood with his arms crossed, smiling at the defector without a trace of humor.

No-one said anything for a moment. Gabriel stood, weighing up his chances, before drawing his weapon and letting it drop to the ground. He was dimly aware of shouting coming from the ward behind him; it seemed Samuel's escape attempt had fared no better.

"Take him."

Gabriel held up his hands as the men approached. Fighting his way through would be a futile gesture, even if he somehow managed to defeat the wardens he'd likely be crippled in the attempt. Morris would doubtless call for reinforcements in the meantime, and his head would likely be off before the lawmen recognized that magic that helped him.

"Your sentence just got moved up Averis." Morris said, as he was escorted back to his ward, and the cell therein. "You die tonight, and I'll be taking my supper in the yard while you dance for us."

'On to plan C...' The mercenary thought.

..............

Meanwhile, with their 'sparring match' at an end. Myra sat up briefly and threw a knife at a pair of peeping thugs who'd pried on the exercise. The blade thudded into the thin wall of the tent with a ripping noise and sent them scattering, outside came the cry of a man complaining about his injured hand.

"I think..." She began, leaning over Jack to retrieve her skirt. "...I need a smoke."

[Alberich]

Jack lazily reached into the bit of discarded clothing where he'd seen she kept her tobacco. He licked the paper for the rollup himself and tapped the finished product on her naked belly, letting it wander up towards her mouth and jump from hill to hill, "dodging" as she snatched at it. On impulse, as the smoke got close, he bent his mouth to hers and occupied them with a sport known in other times and places as "tonsil hockey" - then pulled back and let the bit of handrolled vice slip in.

[Jack Rothwell]

Myra lit the cigarette with a match and a scrape of her fingernail. She breathed deeply and exhaled with a sigh.

"I'll have to pick up some more after we pull the old man's chestnuts out of the fire." She gave Jack a predatory smile. "You fight well for a pretty boy. We'll be grateful to have you along when we ransack the prison."

She stood up and began pulling her clothes back on. Myra had never understood women who got emotional and clingy after sex.

"Soup's on." She murmured around her smoke. "You hungry?"

OOC If I could have put a similar piece of dialogue from DA2 in here (post-coital scene, hawke and anders- A- I love you, H- Want a sandwich? I might have considered it. /OOC