Duck into the nearest alcove or dark corner I can find and remain perfectly still while whoever they are pass by.
You hide in a broom closet. The footsteps approach, then recede.
I look at Gak while he runs away.
"Our servants sure are ungrateful, he could have atleast waited for us. That's what you have with lowborns: no loyalty at all. Ohh, and by the way, I obviously don't believe all that nonsense about power to the people. Anyway captain, I think we should leave."
Look around for an escape route. Are there any widows?
"We are the power, for those who have none, lad. AN' I don' think the shiny little fella was ever born, low class or no. Lead the way, good sir, lead the way." The Captain gestures toward the grand double doors at the front of the courtroom. there are several other exits - one on each side, and the one behind the judge's bench, as well as some up on the balcony. No windows though - this room is in the middle of the building, more or less. Gets a bit stuffy most days, really. Bit of a poor design for a desert city.
Roll over unhappily. What's keeping me awake? Is it hunger? Nausea? Pain from my wounded leg? How is that feeling?
((Also, I thought the room had a ceiling. So it's open-topped and the walls don't go all the way up to the roof?
..that also means that Freddie's wings should be bound too.. and it might change the definition of what Freddie thinks is his, from the pit to the room the pit is in.))
(5) teh wounded leg feels useable. Still don't want ot do any running or carrying heavy objects with it though, but you can put weight on it. Frederick finds that when he tries to sleep, something catches his attention, and he is constantly going on alert at a sound, a breeze, a smell, the flicker of shadows on the walls. The room is roofed, but there is a mezzanine - a walkway along one side. It's not a human sized room, but Frederick doesn't think in those terms, as he was raised in the chaotic world of gnomes, caverns, and explosions. Frederick's wings are strapped to his sides.
"Yeh... sure..." Thrips murmurs quietly in response.
Outwardly he looks as though he is simply overwhelmed by the sight of a dragon, even in such dismal conditions, but he is in fact feverishly considering his next move. He squinted his good eye, peering down at his scaly companion through the gloom.
Was he hurt? Just what had they done to him to make him stay in here?... What was the building made of?
Quietly agree to the guard's suggestion, buying myself some time to assess the situation.
What is Freddie's status? Can I see how he is restrained? What are the walls of this building made of?
Of course, it should be easy enough to look as though I am simply awestruck by the dragon, not plotting its escape.
He's moving about down there and making dragon noises, though you do notice a bandaged wound on one of his legs. The bandage looks pretty bloody.
You see that his wings are bound by leather straps against his sides, he is muzzled with some kind of flexible material, and his claws are tightly wrapped, though his legs are fre and he doesn't appear to be chained or anything. The lower walls are stone, but up on the level of the walkway, it is wood.
A warm, wet, bit of squishiness is pressed into your hand.
Is Dar even affected by the heat, considering that he's both a cat and a metal golem? If so, he'll try and call a bit of wind to cool himself down.
Also, he'll return to resting below a wagon, where he had been. 
He is affected by heat. Metal gets hot, and he is a living thing still. If i remember, Dar moved away from the wagon at some point, away from the noise to the side of the road. But whatever, getting back to the wagon (or remaining under it if he was already there) is easy enough. It's less hot under the wagon, but only just. The wind he calls ... correct me if I am wrong here, but wind cools mainly via evaporation of sweat, which cats and metal do not do.
"Request: Tiny organics, please remain here. This one will now go deal with the caravaneers. We will start heading for our base of operations in no less than 15 minutes. Please, be patient."
Clunkers stand up, slaps another lightning totem into his staff, and strides over to where Vlad is talking to the caravaneers. Keeping some distance between himself and the caravaneers, he slowly lets his gaze fall upon each of them in turn. For the longest time, all they hear is the soft grinding of the gears inside of him.
He then adresses the entire group in his usual monotone, mechanical voice.
"Annoyed statement: Dear organics, due to your own inability to keep your cargo in a decent shape during transport, it seems we will have to move up our schedule. This means that the time for faffing about is over. This one's patience reserves are now at 0%.
This one will allow one more chance for cooperation. Comply, and you will be allowed to go home. Do not comply, resist, annoy this one or anything else to such an effect, and you will die. Surely this job is not worth dying for.
Query request: This one requires information about this caravan. Point of origin, destination, owner, purpose, etc.
His eyes grow slightly reddish
"Definitive statement: The choice is yours. You have 3 minutes to comply."
Say above to the caravaneers.
Any individual (barring the slaves or teammates) who resists or turns violent gets their heart stopped.
After a confused start, where several speak at once, the caravaneers are able to give you the information you want: The owner is one of the Lords of the city, the point of origin - they assume you mean where they started this trek from, and give the same explanation as the slaves did, the destination is a mining operation up river, beyond the rapids, where ships can't go (which is why they are caravaning instead of shipping), and the purpose is well, they are confused what Clunkers means by purpose. "trade," "transport," and "to make money," are the most common responses to that question.
cut down and kill any who fight , one by one, slowly, until they comply fully or lay dead.
You stand nearby, breathing heavily and sweating in the heat, waiting for the slightest provocation. None comes (1) your eyes roll up in your head and you fall on your face. the world goes black.
Into Vlad I go!
your ride is a little ... unconscious, there.
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Topic: Omega Legion: horses and spiders (Read 82709 times)