Session 3: Burn Burns with Evidence

Farilind felt pain in his wrists. It took a moment for him to realize his arms were raised above his head. His whole body ached. His vision was blurred when he opened his eyes; his lips were chapped and crusted. After a few minutes, his eyes were finally able to focus on his surroundings. He was chained up, nearly hanging from his wrists by metal shackles, in a dungeon.
 
There was no one else here. Wincing, he tried to wriggle his slender hands out of the shackles.
 
It appears the shackles were made for human wrists. Farilind was able to slip out of them easily by cupping and narrowing his hands. He felt at his face. His fingers came away from his lip with dried, flaked blood. His nose was severely crooked and it erupted in pain at a simple touch. He pushed towards a cell door.
 
No guards in the room behind the cell door. Strange. He couldn't trace any signs for keys either; the door was certainly locked, though Farilind checked for good measure. He did notice his things lying atop a chest, however. And a broom that had been neglected within his reach. He pulled the broom, noting the construction of the door, and realized he might be able to push it off its hinges with the right force.
 
The broom strains under the weight of the door, its fibers threatening to splinter and tear. Finally the door lifts; the pins locking it in place clear the hinges. Farilind then works on pushing the door outward so it can rest on the floor. Tweaking the hinged side, however, caused a snapping within the locking mechanism held on the other side of the door. He slipped through and donned his gear.
 
Reunited with his things, Farilind cracks the guardroom door open and peaks out. At least two guards were walking down a corridor talking, heading this way. The elf ducked behind the desk.
 
Sure enough, the door opened. “-- you believe it? Harr and Ted. That elf sure did a num... Uhh, Torret. I think he may have escaped...” Torret cursed then rushed to the cell door. Both guards brushed passed Farilind. He snuck up behind the first speaker.
 
With the element of surprise, Farilind was able to club the first speaker in a pressure point on the back of his neck, who collapsed immediately. Torret turned in alarm, but not before receiving a nonfatal slash on his arm. Farilind slipped behind his back and stuffed a damp cloth, with the poison he received from Annika, into the man's maw before he could cry for help. He quickly slipped into unconsciousness.
 
“Maybe there's still hope for me after all...” Farilind mutters under his breath.
 
Farilind ducks out of the guardroom and heads right. He blesses Shevarash for the good fortune as he finds stairs climbing up a level. He checks his map and notes that the barracks room he'd been punished in was just around the corner. He snuck by to get a glimpse; of the two in the guardroom, he had only recognized Torret. That means there was another guard here that had seen his face.
 
He found two guards in the room. The bloodstains from the earlier fight were still there, though the guard he crippled was now gone. The guards were talking nervously about the attack. Their nerves were well-warranted; Farilind recognized one of the men. The last that had seen his face. While he was conscious, anywho. Farilind threw his dagger at the first man and barreled into the barracks room.
 
The thrown dagger slipped into the first man's hamstring. Farilind shouldered into his back and sent him face first into the ground. His off dagger caught the familiar man in the hand, then again in the shoulder. Both men were quickly crippled; Farilind finished them with the damp rag, sending them into a temporary world of blackness.
 
“Well.” Farilind thought to himself. “Pretty sure I've downed a good portion of their guard-staff. And done a bit more damage than I should have... Hopefully Graran doesn't fire me for this...”
 
Farilind worked his way through the noble's house, following the map in his memory. He found the staircase to the upper floors, where the bedrooms were kept, as expected. He heard more talking, however. A moment's waiting...
 
Farilind popped around the corner with his damp cloth, but this man responded quickly. He caught Farilind's wrist before the noxious fumes could enter his body, but took a jab to the ribs. Farilind followed up with two more; a crack to the jaw and a knee to the stomach. The guard swatted at Farilind with his scimitar, but it was a careless lunge, and Farilind twisted out of the way.
 
Farilind's pommel caught the lunging man on the back of the head and he crashed to the floor. Farilind placed the rag in his face and then dashed across the hallway, lining up a shot with his shortbow as he heard footsteps thudding above in response to the clamor.
 
A robed man zipped down the stairs and knelt beside the fallen man, grabbing the cloth from his face and studying it moment. He looked around, but saw no one.
 
An arrow grazed the priest's back; Farilind turned the corner he was hiding behind and attacked the man with his daggers.
 
The priest dodges the elf's blade, but Farilind shouldered into him, knocking the priest off balance. He tumbled backwards and cracked his head on the stone floor; Farilind took advantage of the opportunity to smother his face with the rag. When the priest's breathing slowed to its steady, unconscious rhythm, Farilind dashed upstairs and peeked into the lord's room. No one.
 
Over the next ten minutes, Farilind rummaged through Burns' things. Books, dresser, desk... Eventually, in his sock drawer, Farilind found a letter.
 
“Graham. More blood and body are required if our plans are to resume. I understand there are some making claims against you that is making our arrangement...difficult. But I trust that you are more than equipped to handle such social moves. Signed, Mr. T.”
 
Satisfied with his findings, Farilind slipped out of the window and hurried back to Sabre Bastion to report to Graran.
 
Discord Link: Session 3 - Burn Burns with Evidence