Port Lorrel- Prison Break

[Alberich]

"Right," said Jack, levering himself to his feet. He took a glance over at Gabriel as he moved along, giving his new acquaintance a chance to mouth any useful information he cared to have lip-read. There wasn't any point in wisecracking. He'd see in a moment if these boys liked to throw in a few trips and pushes for "attitude adjusters." For now, he was in their power, or at least he preferred to let them keep thinking so. So the thing was to go along. His face betrayed neither the fear he didn't feel nor the contempt he did.

He quietly promised himself this Gabriel would share in his freedom once he got out. These bandit-assassin-militia-mercenary groups were good sources of information in this country, and Gabriel had held rank in one of them, and had the look of a survivor who'd climb back up the ladder again. Or find a new ladder. A good contact for future missions. To show those stupid bitches that yes, there was a way to get business done without using blunt intstruments. Or being one yourself.

[Jack Rothwell]

Gabriel mouthed nothing at his new acquaintance, but simply tipped him a wink to let him know things were fine. He finished brushing himself clean (more of a symbolic gesture than for reasons of hygiene) and turned his attention to Old Roland. The eldery man was currently the best chance for information either of them had access to, unless the younger man could pull an ace out his sleeve with the guards.

They didn't so much manhandle him as march him briskly to the door and out of sight. Gabriel figured the interrogation (if experience was any judge) would be the standard 'welcome-to-the-gallows-you-maggot' spiel that the small-minded thugs in the lorrelian guard were famous for followed by a half-hearted list of questions to establish any crimes he'd commited, whether or not the young man confessed to any wrongdoing would make little difference to his treatment, unless of course he knew something of value, that could get a prisoner either freed... or dead.

But pondering the nature of his comrade-in-crisis' current treatment didn't take him any closer to finding Riekstien. It was time to take action on that front.

Gabriel turned and strode towards the group of surly-looking men, the largest of which immediately detached himself and stood defiantly between the mercenary and his boss. He stopped a foot from the big man, having to crane upwards to meet the brute's eyes, and Gabriel was tall.

"Ol' Rolan' aint taking visitors." He drawled.

"We're old friends." A lie. Gabriel had only seen Roland in passing during his occasional visits to the compound, and when he'd been imprisoned years back he'd been wise enough to keep his distance. That was then, however, and circumstances had changed.

"Aint taking visitors." The big man repeated, pressing a sausage of a finger into the captain's chest.

"Tell him Averis presents his compliments and has a proposition for him he'd do well to listen to." He saw the blank look on the bodyguard's face and rolled his eyes. "I've got something he wants, tell him, and kindly move your fucking finger before I break it off and jam it where the sun shineth not."

The big man's scowl deepened for a moment, but there was something in Gabriel's tone and hollow looking eyes that made him do as he was bid. A minute of low conversation between him and the old man later, and the goliath reapproached Gabriel with a shake of his head.

"Rolan' says he'll decide in his own good time whether or not you're worth speaking to. Now piss off."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the ox and craned sideways to get a look at the man in charge of the group. Roland said nothing, but raised a single hand and made a dismissive gesture.

"Line up! Back to the cells!" A warden calling. Gabriel sighed inwardly, his earlier hope that retrieving the shiv would be a quick job was proving to be groundless with every hour that passed. He took his place in the line and began trudging back to his cell.

[Alberich]

Jack himself was curious as to which way this interrogation would go. He hadn't seen the overdressed Head Warden leave - so maybe this was to be a "special" interrogation, focused more on the jailyard fight and his new acquaintance than on his offenses. On t'other hand, if he'd gone out a different way, and these were simply the corrupt thugs the good captain had described -- well, he'd just have to try a variant on his original plan, now, wouldn't he?

[Graybeard]

[OOC: One thing to keep in mind while pursuing this thread is that Port Lorrel is a typical Farrelian city, which means that while there's nominally a city government, police force, etc., they're not the ones who really run things with a cops-and-robbers feel to them. In reality, that's done at least as much by the mobs as by the officials, and in the case of Lorrel, that means the Eisenfaust. They don't have a dog in this fight -- yet. However, they'd certainly be keeping tabs on what was going on, so ...]

"Yes, Annabelle?" Elke looked up from the paperwork she was doing. She hadn't actually seen her most trusted lieutenant, but the rap on her door had had Annabelle's quiet, subdued manner ... even as the distinctive cadence implied that there might be trouble brewing.

"Not sure whether there's a problem here or not," the other woman said as she came in and sat down. "That sergeant over at the jail that we have a hold on, Laret or something like that, sends word that there's a new fish there who has something to do with another outfit. Bunch called the 'Ralkin,' he says. I thought you should know about that."

Elke snorted dismissively. "Pfft. Bunch of violent thugs from the Southern Continent, starting to mess around with magic they have no business using, but nothing important. They've passed through here, and we have the income to show for it." Both women knew, of course, that that meant bribes. "But they're smart enough not to open operations here, and we stay out of each other's way. If they get crossways with the cops, not our problem."

Annabelle held up a hand. "There's more, though. Something he said got me worried that they have something to do with that special project of yours, whatever it is."

Elke's head jerked up at that. "Jamie, I presume?" Her deputy certainly would know that Jamie had been sent north, with instructions to make a hit, and promises of a goodly fortune on her return. However, that was about all Annabelle was allowed to know about that particular "special project." If she somehow knew more ... well, she was the best second-in-command that Elke had ever had, but that didn't mean she was invulnerable.

Annabelle looked uncomfortable. "Connected to her, I think. I don't know any details." (Elke relaxed at that; she really did like the woman and didn't want to have to kill her.) "Laret says the new guy talks in his sleep, and he heard him once mumbling about a 'catgirl.' Since there was one of those following Jamie around before she left, I thought you should know about it. Catgirls aren't exactly common in Lorrel, after all."

Elke nodded. "Since that asshole innkeeper got taken out, anyway. Yeah, you're right." She thought for a moment. "No action needed right now, but keep an eye on this. If the inside guy turns up anything more, I want to know about it. Thanks." The two women went their separate ways, Elke wishing that she knew more about what Jamie was up to -- it had been curiously quiet on that front for several days now -- and Annabelle not knowing how close she'd come to being rubbed out.

[Jack Rothwell]

"Jack Gallows." The man who led to interrogation began, talking to the man who sat in the chair by enunciating every syllable of his name as if reflecting on the punchline of an unfunny joke. He eyed the inmate with scorn as he continued.

"A petty thief fresh in the cell, already associating with one of the most despised men in the history of militia and picking fights in the yard." He shared a look with his comrade. "I reckon you must want to stay here for a very long time."

He let silence fall in the meager room, obviously trying to make the man uncomfortable.

"You have anything to say for yourself?"

[Alberich]

Jack thought it odd - the herd leader wasn't here, and they were interested in his thieving and jailyard brawling, not the man whose throat he'd cut. (Maybe they were grateful for saving the cost of his food?) In truth that was Jack's whole reason for being here, but it didn't seem prudent to bring that up. Better to stick to the story he'd told Gabriel. He kept his face and tone carefully humble - not pretending to fear, but not wisecracking either.

Rattling on now wouldn't be smart. Putting on a defense would be stupid. Better to see what they were after. He spread his hands. "What do you want to know?"

He figured the talk would turn to his earlier thefts soon enough, especially if they had bribes on their minds, and get him a chance at where he wanted to be. Meantime he might learn something from their questions.

[Alberich]

Several hours later, as night was approaching, Jack was on his own again. His clothes were changed and his hair much shorter and cut in a different style, with a little carefully applied make-up that would fool a casual glance. A stolen knife was at his belt and stolen money in his pocket. If he'd been more prudent he might be quite gone, - but he'd set himself the challenge of getting Gabriel out as well. If nothing panned out, then he'd have to leave at some point -- his true mission was accomplished anyway -- but he wanted things fixed in a way that left no one on the hunt for him. And preferably with a new contact or two.

The interrogators, as it happened, hadn't included the lead herdsmen, just the looming greedy bully-boys the captain had described. They'd had little to say about the killing. Small wonder - the man had been a gibbering lunatic, of no interest to the Eisenfaust or anyone else...so the conversation had been first on the jailyard fight. Jack had played it cooperatively, telling them nothing they didn't already know about which men seemed to hate his new companion, and then they'd turned to his thieving past. Which led to a discussion of the loot he'd cached in the hills, and an arrangement to lead a couple of them out there and dig it up. Tied up, of course. But he'd led them to a steep hill that only he could climb, and they'd untied him to let him climb up for the loot - and from there escape was not hard.

(Ironically, he actually did have some emergency funds cached in the area, but he didn't want to tap that cache. Better to take what he needed from the local livestock.)

Had he been given the name of a contact, the rest would've been straightforward - steal enough for a couple of freedom bribes, deliver the loot to the contact, and get them both bought out. As it was, he'd have to work a little harder (though he hoped without having to employ his "talents"). That's why he was checking the taverns, not close to the Gallows, for news of this "Samuel Riekstien." From Gabriel's words he knew that Samuel was a friend of his who'd been brought to the Gallows soon before -- that he was a bandit chief under likely sentence of death, this Jack did not yet know. He figured this Samuel must've bought his way out already and would be glad to aid in the escape of his friend.

[OOC: Being vague about exactly where he is and what he learns so whoever wishes can set the scene.]

[Jack Rothwell]

OOC I think got an idea for a nice tie-in, right here viewtopic.php?f=33&t=1926&start=10.../OOC

To call 'The Clark' distinctive would have been an understatement. Jack found the tavern the waterfront district, there, held upright by several large, supporting stones was a building in the shape of a fair-sized trading vessel. It was cheerfully illuminated by circles of light gleaming through windows shaped as port holes. The bow was it's entrance, opened up into a double door, with a shallow ramp leading to it that was flanked by a pair of bored looking brutes, who were dressed as if they'd just returned from somewhere exotic where the sun burned skin like paper. Several feet above the roofs of it's neighbouring buildings was the sign, a flag at the top of the mast which showed a picture of a regal-looking man in profile.

The bouncers let Jack past without comment, he opened the double doors to reveal a room resembling a lower deck that had obviously been stripped of it's previous contents, besides a pair of stopped-up cannons pointing out opposite portholes and a handful of nets hanging from the rafters. Otherwise the chamber had contents a man would expect to find in any given pub on a street in the port. Steps leading to the upper deck (from which sounds of revelry could also be heard) framed a bar which ran the length of the opposite wall, tables were scattered around, stools placed near beams to lean on for surly looking loners and at the bar itself, lanterns to see by, and the general hubbub of two dozen customers going about the business of serious drinking.

One of the most striking figures amongst the street life of the corrupted port was a short, stout man wearing an oversized hat who was slumped by the bar holding a large mug filled with an exotic red lquid (that a well-learned man might recognize as Grendellian port, an import from the Southern Continent). Abruptly he sat up and barked in a gravelly voice at the man behind the bar.

"Wedge! Fill my glass up!"

"It's full, Captain."

"Is it?" He squinted at the mug in his hand. "Ahh... well... bugger that then."

[Alberich]

"Jack" -- well, he'd use a different name here, obviously -- smiled at his surroundings. So typical. When these cattle wanted to cross the sea, they wedged themselves into these cramped wooden stables. And they felt so at home there, that they'd even keep them on land, to take their pleasures in! Well, they belonged in stables. Of course.

So he went up to the bar, all friendly, and jingled some recently stolen coins. He'd travelled enough, on one kind of business and another, to recognize this stuff. He'd take wine over their undrinkable rat-piss beer any day anyway. "Say," he said to Wedge, "is that real Grendellian Port? Haven't had it in years - let's have a glass!"

[Jack Rothwell]

"An excellent choice, my friend." The young man replied companionably, and retrieved a glass that looked a little more proper than the drunk man's over-sized mug the bartender had called Captain to pour the export into. Now that the thief had a better view he could that 'over-sized' was the general rule with the short man's possessions, along with his hat and mug, he sported a jacket at least two sizes to big for his frame, when he took the hat off to scratch his head there was an over-sized bald spot on the back of his head and strapped to his back was an over-sized blunderbuss nearly as long as the man who carried it. He tilted the mug back to his mouth with a chugging noise as the barman gave the newcomer his drink.

"This is the only good thing we took from that Gods-cursed continent." He leaned back unsteadily and belched at the ceiling. "Bloody monsters running around, and the shellfish was overpriced."

He finished his mug and slammed it down on the bar with a clumsy thud. He turned in his seat and looked squarely at Jack.

"You must be a tourist, then again, every other bugger is who walks in here."

.......

Gabriel was back in his cell, lying on his bunk and staring fixedly at the ceiling. Trying to figure out how to proceed with his plans.

He had little feeling one way or the other about the fact his cellmate hadn't returned from his interrogation. The former captain summarized he'd either been executed, moved to solitary or let out for having something the wardens wanted. He didn't spend much time pondering which explanation it was; there was nothing he could about it regardless of the truth of the matter.

Time passed, the mercenary was drifting towards sleep when a banging noise alerted him. He opened his eyes and looked where it had come from.

Two of the guards were standing at his cell with impatient expressions on their faces, both had their hands on the swords strapped at their waists.

"Get up, meat. There's someone who wants to talk to you."

Gabriel did as he'd been asked, moments later he was cuffed and being led across the Arteus ward.