Knightmare27
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jun 16, 2011
- Posts
- 1,826
OOC:
This is a group RP that tries to be sort of a "dungeon soap opera" with a recurring cast of prisoners and jailers. Anyone who is willing to join: PM me if you are interested!
IC:
Halgrim the Cruel. The common people had not even waited three years before deciding on a name for their new king. The followers of the old dynasty spoke the name with contempt, at least if their heads were not now parts of the skull pyramids that the new overlord had a disturbing habit of constructing. When you spoke to the common people, though, sometimes that name had a certain tinge of awe. The old king had been merciful, yes, but that mercy had always been negotiable. Under Halgrim, all criminals were equally doomed. Executions - always a crowd pleaser - were more plentiful than ever, but even more dreaded was the slavery he had introduced as a punishment for crimes that did not quite warrant death. Thousands of criminals were now breaking stones and rowing ships or had even disappeared. There were wild rumors about them, with most people believing that they had been assigned as slaves to Halgrim's Tower itself, toiling away in the eternal darkness of that fortress of suffering. But since so few people returned from that place, no one knew for sure.
Ah yes, Halgrim's Tower. It had received that nickname despite being only two stories high - above ground. No one except the builders who had helped construct it knew how many stories it was below, and some claimed it had passages leading to hell itself - a rumor that was helped by the screams that came from it day and night. It was a squat, ugly thing, newly built when the tyrant had taken over. Located inside the castle, it had replaced a large part of the gardens. To most, it was a symbol of dread. Some, however, had begun to see it as a sign of justice - quick, brutal, impartial.
One of the few who, of course, knew the layout of the tower like their own home, was Tyann the Jailer. That was because it was his home. A man-at-arms in Halgrim's army even before the conquest, he had been wounded in taking Shipton and, as a reward for his services, given the "lordship" of Halgrim's Tower. Few ever met him, and those who expected an inhuman beast would have been disappointed. He was a slender man, just past middle age, with short white hair. If he had worn a robe instead of the practical, tight-fitting worn leather outfit he wore at work, you could have mistaken him for a kindly priest. His blue eyes were much warmer than the eyes of the ruler of hell on earth had any right to be. His wound had slowed him down a bit - his limp was still fairly noticeable - but he had the military bearing of a veteran and the firm grip needed to keep a tower full of criminals under control. His guards - mostly former soldiers like himself - respected him, and it helped that he believed in getting his hands dirty or even bloody. You would often see him on the lower levels, checking on the prisoners, or even in the torture chambers, overseeing the treatment of more stubborn prisoners. From time to time, he would even act as the torturer himself - especially if he found a prisoner attractive. Lust was the only vice he allowed himself, and only his sense of duty kept it from being exploited by enterprising beautiful prisoners. Of course, more than one had tried to seduce her way out of the dungeon, but none had succeeded yet - though he loved to lead them on.
The top floor of the tower were his sleeping quarters as well as his office. Here, he and a few clerks kept the books meticulously - arrivals, punishments, and the very, very few departures. The ground floor was mostly an entrance hall, with dormitories for the guards on both sides of the mighty iron gate. In the back of the hall, two guards stood watch over a locked iron grating day and night. It led to a spiral staircase four stories deep. On the first level were the cells for prisoners who had earned mercy in some way - petty criminals, repentant or noble ones. They each had their own cell, with a stool, a bed of straw and even - an unthinkable luxury for the unfortunates suffering below - a tiny barred window high in the wall to supply them with light and air. Also on this level were the slave quarters (for the rumors were true, and some criminals were sentenced to spend the rest of their days tending to the other prisoners). The slaves slept on straw on the ground, chained to the wall and kept the tower clean and the prisoners fed. The most heavily guarded room on this level was the kitchen, where some of the slaves cooked the "meat" stew for the first-level prisoners as well as the revolting slop for the lower-level prisoners. This was where the most trustworthy slaves worked, since it was closest to the surface and escape. Still, there were always several guards stationed inside and outside this room.
The second level. A pitch-black pit where only lamps and torches brought some light whenever a guard or slave had to go there. Common criminals suffered here in mass cells covered in filthy straw, often naked and chained to the wall. However, this was nothing compared to the horrors of the third level. Here, even the luxury of standing up was denied. These were holes, not cells, and the prisoners had to spend their days lying down in pitch darkness listening to the screams from below. This was for the worst of the worst - the most heinous criminals and those who had repeatedly resisted torture were softened up here - or sometimes driven insane. And the the fourth level! This was where the rumors of tunnels to hell came from. In a central chamber and several smaller rooms, deep under the earth, tortures were inflicted here on anyone who insisted on their innocence. Often, fear alone did all the work, but sometimes the horrifying instruments on this level had to be used, and most prisoners quickly came to regret their stubbornness.
This is a group RP that tries to be sort of a "dungeon soap opera" with a recurring cast of prisoners and jailers. Anyone who is willing to join: PM me if you are interested!
IC:
Halgrim the Cruel. The common people had not even waited three years before deciding on a name for their new king. The followers of the old dynasty spoke the name with contempt, at least if their heads were not now parts of the skull pyramids that the new overlord had a disturbing habit of constructing. When you spoke to the common people, though, sometimes that name had a certain tinge of awe. The old king had been merciful, yes, but that mercy had always been negotiable. Under Halgrim, all criminals were equally doomed. Executions - always a crowd pleaser - were more plentiful than ever, but even more dreaded was the slavery he had introduced as a punishment for crimes that did not quite warrant death. Thousands of criminals were now breaking stones and rowing ships or had even disappeared. There were wild rumors about them, with most people believing that they had been assigned as slaves to Halgrim's Tower itself, toiling away in the eternal darkness of that fortress of suffering. But since so few people returned from that place, no one knew for sure.
Ah yes, Halgrim's Tower. It had received that nickname despite being only two stories high - above ground. No one except the builders who had helped construct it knew how many stories it was below, and some claimed it had passages leading to hell itself - a rumor that was helped by the screams that came from it day and night. It was a squat, ugly thing, newly built when the tyrant had taken over. Located inside the castle, it had replaced a large part of the gardens. To most, it was a symbol of dread. Some, however, had begun to see it as a sign of justice - quick, brutal, impartial.
One of the few who, of course, knew the layout of the tower like their own home, was Tyann the Jailer. That was because it was his home. A man-at-arms in Halgrim's army even before the conquest, he had been wounded in taking Shipton and, as a reward for his services, given the "lordship" of Halgrim's Tower. Few ever met him, and those who expected an inhuman beast would have been disappointed. He was a slender man, just past middle age, with short white hair. If he had worn a robe instead of the practical, tight-fitting worn leather outfit he wore at work, you could have mistaken him for a kindly priest. His blue eyes were much warmer than the eyes of the ruler of hell on earth had any right to be. His wound had slowed him down a bit - his limp was still fairly noticeable - but he had the military bearing of a veteran and the firm grip needed to keep a tower full of criminals under control. His guards - mostly former soldiers like himself - respected him, and it helped that he believed in getting his hands dirty or even bloody. You would often see him on the lower levels, checking on the prisoners, or even in the torture chambers, overseeing the treatment of more stubborn prisoners. From time to time, he would even act as the torturer himself - especially if he found a prisoner attractive. Lust was the only vice he allowed himself, and only his sense of duty kept it from being exploited by enterprising beautiful prisoners. Of course, more than one had tried to seduce her way out of the dungeon, but none had succeeded yet - though he loved to lead them on.
The top floor of the tower were his sleeping quarters as well as his office. Here, he and a few clerks kept the books meticulously - arrivals, punishments, and the very, very few departures. The ground floor was mostly an entrance hall, with dormitories for the guards on both sides of the mighty iron gate. In the back of the hall, two guards stood watch over a locked iron grating day and night. It led to a spiral staircase four stories deep. On the first level were the cells for prisoners who had earned mercy in some way - petty criminals, repentant or noble ones. They each had their own cell, with a stool, a bed of straw and even - an unthinkable luxury for the unfortunates suffering below - a tiny barred window high in the wall to supply them with light and air. Also on this level were the slave quarters (for the rumors were true, and some criminals were sentenced to spend the rest of their days tending to the other prisoners). The slaves slept on straw on the ground, chained to the wall and kept the tower clean and the prisoners fed. The most heavily guarded room on this level was the kitchen, where some of the slaves cooked the "meat" stew for the first-level prisoners as well as the revolting slop for the lower-level prisoners. This was where the most trustworthy slaves worked, since it was closest to the surface and escape. Still, there were always several guards stationed inside and outside this room.
The second level. A pitch-black pit where only lamps and torches brought some light whenever a guard or slave had to go there. Common criminals suffered here in mass cells covered in filthy straw, often naked and chained to the wall. However, this was nothing compared to the horrors of the third level. Here, even the luxury of standing up was denied. These were holes, not cells, and the prisoners had to spend their days lying down in pitch darkness listening to the screams from below. This was for the worst of the worst - the most heinous criminals and those who had repeatedly resisted torture were softened up here - or sometimes driven insane. And the the fourth level! This was where the rumors of tunnels to hell came from. In a central chamber and several smaller rooms, deep under the earth, tortures were inflicted here on anyone who insisted on their innocence. Often, fear alone did all the work, but sometimes the horrifying instruments on this level had to be used, and most prisoners quickly came to regret their stubbornness.
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