A passerby watches the goings-on, then heads off, yelling for the Langa Mihman to arrest Elizzibiana for pilfering!

A member of the Langa Mihman steps from the shadows!  He commands sternly, "Come with me, Elizzibiana.  The Judicial Tribunal wishes to discuss your activities with you."

The Langa guardsman then quickly grabs you, binds you in chains, and drags you to jail.


Arriving at the jail, the Langa guardsman removes your things and carefully places them in a sack, then opens the chamber door and firmly propels you inside.  He glances at you cooly and says, "The judges will call for you, in time."

The door closes noiselessly.
[Mer'Kresh, Jail Cell]
Thick padding lines the walls and ceiling of the cell, hinting that the Rissan government believes the incarcerated lack the wit to keep themselves unharmed.  Only the barred door lacks complete cushioning, and only there along the edges.  The provincial arrogance may not be far from the truth, because someone has apparently attempted to chew through the thinner pads on the door.
Obvious exits: none.
P>
You look around, but can't see any place to hide yourself.
P>l elizz
You are Elizzibiana DrikWalla-Eshinar, a S'Kra Mur.
You have slitted jade eyes, silver scales and a slender tail.
You have a tattoo of spiraling ribbons of barbed silver wire on your tail.
You are in good shape.

You are wearing some heavy manacles.
P>
The barred door opens slowly and a member of the Langa Mihman strides in.  He glances at you distastefully as he says, "Elizzibiana, the judges have reviewed the charges against you."  He opens the door and motions for you to follow him.

You are led into the Courtroom, before a three-judge tribunal composed of two youngish Elves and one elderly Human.

The elderly Human judge looks at you impassively and says, "Elizzibiana, you have been charged with pilfering.  "Elizzibiana, we are a civilized society, and we expect both citizens and visitors to show the respect for one another on which our culture is built.  Since you have shown gross indifference to our principles, we are removing you from our midst.  I hereby fine you 225 copper lirums and sentence you to the Penal Colony for a term to be given to you when you arrive there."

The judge bangs his gavel once.  One of the Elven judges motions to a guardsman, who escorts you briskly out of the courtroom.

Arriving at the chamber, the guards shove you in, strip and search you, and bind you to a chair.  A female guard uses a red-hot iron to mark a wicked brand on you.  She smears a strong-smelling salve on your seared flesh and says almost kindly, "That will help the scar heal faster."  The guards untie you, stand you back on your feet, and leave, locking the door after themselves.

[Mer'Kresh, Travel Preparation Chamber]
Thickly padded walls line this small room.  The ceiling and floor are also padded, and the room itself is watched at all times by the guards in the neighboring guardroom, allowing for no nonsense, no trickery, no escape.  Rissan justice is swift, though their measures are sometimes considered odd by outsiders.
Obvious exits: none.

[The Penal Galley, Nightwinds]
The sounds of rattling chains and straining oars cry out in time with the thunderous pounding of a drum, hidden somewhere on another deck.  Powerful odors drift freely about the chained rowers, making it impossible to determine the source of each scent.  Hard benches, stained by years of sweating occupants, are made even less comfortable by the exposed eye-loops and snaking chains underfoot.
Obvious paths: none.
s>

You wait in the galley, chained to the bench.  You see a brawny sailor on the walkway above who requests that you take note of the oar before you and gives you a few simple instructions in its use.  The crack of a whip and the beat of a drum encourage a spirit of teamwork as you begin to row to the Penal Colony.
s>look
[The Penal Galley, Nightwinds]
The sounds of rattling chains and straining oars cry out in time with the thunderous pounding of a drum, hidden somewhere on another deck.  Powerful odors drift freely about the chained rowers, making it impossible to determine the source of each scent.  Hard benches, stained by years of sweating occupants, are made even less comfortable by the exposed eye-loops and snaking chains underfoot.
Obvious paths: none.
s>
 * Brikmar Bor'Nor joins the adventure.
s>stand
You don't seem to be able to move to do that.
s>

You notice water seeping between two of the planks at your feet and resolve to keep an eye on that.
s>inv
You don't seem to be able to move to do that.


The bench is getting mighty hard.  They could have made it a little wider, too.  No consideration.



Vessels in the bay seem to take little notice of the galley as it moves out of the harbor and into the open sea, though always in sight of land.
s>

A guard tickles a convict with the end of his whip and sneers at her, "Hey, Honey!  Where's the ol' moongate when you need it, eh?"
s>
A deckhand shouts from above, "How about a song, lads?  Come on -- 'Row, row, row yer boat!'"  His response is a few rhythmical grunts and at least one muttered suggestion that he do something clearly impossible.
s>
 * Falkeiri returns home from a hard day of adventuring.
s>

The muscles in your back and legs begin to tire from repeated pulls at the oar, but the pitiless drum beats on without ceasing.
s>

The pain seems unendurable as every muscle and sinew in your body shrieks in torment!

s>

You have rowed for what seems like hours, hands raw and back aching, although it surely could not be that long.


Someone behind you screams, "There's a slimy rat in here!"  A sailor laughs, "That's the cap'n's pet!"
s>


s>
 * Lanahle returns home from a hard day of adventuring.
s>

A convict a few benches ahead of you pauses to scratch himself, and a guard uses the whip to concentrate the man's attention.

You glance over your shoulder and see a grim fortress on a high hill.  The drum begins a slow, steady beat as the captain peers at the harbor entrance.

A Halfling on the bench opposite is abundantly and noisily seasick.  The Dwarf chained next to him rolls his eyes.
s>

On top of everything else, you hear a convict behind you whistling a merry tune.  What kind of people are these?
s>

The galley docks in the Colony Harbor.  You are unchained and led up the hill to the Reception Center for new convicts.
[The Reception Hall, Main Room]
Like all the military areas of the fortress, this large hall is spotlessly clean and in perfect order.  Lines painted on the waxed and polished wooden floor show arriving prisoners where to stand.  The lines face a dais toward the back of the room, and an oak door with a glittering brass knob is set in the wall behind the dais.  You also see Clerk Marplang and a wooden desk with a sign on it.
Obvious exits: out.
A clerk yells, "Form up on the lines!  Hands at your sides!"  He orders sharply, "Attention for the Castellan!" as a bored-looking Elf enters.  The Castellan wears a grey tunic with a black emblem on one shoulder and a ceremonial dagger at his waist.

The Elf looks you up and down cursorily, apparently finding little of interest.  He says quietly, "you have been sent here because you have been judged unfit for civilized society.  We make no attempt to reform you.  You are hardly worth the time for that.  We are here to jail you."

"Our rules are simple," he says.  "What you do here is your business.  What we do to you while you are here is our business.  You are now at liberty to enjoy the delights of the colony."  And with that, he turns and leaves the building without a backward look.

>l on desk
On the wooden desk you see a sign.

A sign reads:
Pay debts here.  For information about your sentence, just ask me.

The clerk says, "Ah, time!  Time is the philosophical notion of an observer's perception of a succession or progression of instantaneous events."  He grins.  "Gryzzler told me that.  But if you want to know how much time you have left to serve, why not ask me about your sentence?"
Marplang taps the sign on his desk.
>ask mar about sentence
The clerk winks at you.  "Ah, want to know how much time you have to serve, eh, Convict Elizzibiana.  Let's see."
Marplang consults a small list on his desk.
"Convict Elizzibiana," says Marplang, "you have 11 days and 23 hours left to serve, if you behave yourself."  He then says, "Guards, show this lady out."
And with that, two guards enter the room, seize you by the wrists and ankles, swing you back and forth a few times, and fling you out into the street!
[Penal Colony, The Reception Square]
Just inside the main gate is a dusty square fronting a wooden hall, tidy, trim, and freshly painted.  The hall looks big enough to process the incoming shipments of living cargo through their welcoming.  The top floor of a handsome building rises behind a perfectly trimmed boxwood hedge to the east, and to the south is an even bigger open area.
Obvious paths: north, south.