You Get What You Pay For

You were furious. You were livid. You were, above all, astounded and amazed at the blatant disregard for reality you had just witnessed. No matter what you had thought before, you never imagined that you would be thrown in jail and banished from the realm – given a life sentence – for questioning the order of the King and seeking to right his wrongs.   You had travelled to Upper Preschwall in search of a way to help the people of southern Phesunlay, to improve upon the lackluster support that was provided by the King and his Mage Counsel. How he could think that such meagre resources, and very little physical protection, could possibly keep the Xzonic Competitors away from the people of the southern lands was fathomable. You thought he must not be getting accurate reports, must not be aware of the dire straits of the south. He must be so insulated that he doesn’t see, though he needed to. That had been your goal.   And yet, when you arrived in the city, it all went wrong. You had a few close calls with the guards in taking from lavishly appointed mercantile booths to feed a few homeless children, and then when you had asked a representative of the Mage Counsel (easily noted in his purple collared robe with a thin, long silver chain) if you could speak to the King or someone else about actually giving a damn about the people in the south, the representative had called the guards. Sure, you may have spun them around by their shoulder to get their attention, but they seemed far too lost in their own lofty world. But to lock you up for such a motion? It was absurd.   It only got worse from there. The representative quickly escalated his cries to higher authorities, claiming that you had punched them and sought to throw them to the ground for failing to provide information which could hurt the crown and the country. It was ludicrous, and yet the Kentasorte had taken everything the representative said at face value, taking little heed of what you said and insinuating that the word of such a person was worth more than yours. Somehow, with such a small action, you were sentenced to live out your days in the Bandit Lands, locked away from the very people you sought to protect. At least during court you learned the name of the representative – Orna.   You had little recourse. Shortly after your sentencing, you were manacled and loaded onto a carriage to head to the Bandit Lands. The guards said nothing to you, did not respond at all to your statements of innocence, and so you stopped speaking at all. Instead, you began to work out a plan to escape from the carriage, to take one of the carriage horses and ride to the south and find Pocket and get some supplies and some men and plan your way back into the capital…   But you had anticipated that they would let you out of the carriage. Instead, they kept it locked tight and fed meagre scraps through a slit in the door. You could hear motion on the opposite of the back wall of your carriage cell, but despite your best efforts, the person on the other side (if there was one) never responded.   Soon enough, a guard yelled that the Gnarled Wall was just over the hill. Once the carriages had stopped again, the world became a blur of motion and noise – the other side of your carriage burst open, weapons were drawn, more were loaded in to the other side (not all alive), and then the carriage lurched forward with a bolt of speed and the protest of horses. There was a jolting bump and as you slammed against the side wall, your head whipped back and cracked against the wall, dazing you.   By the time you were fully aware of your surroundings, you realized you were in a dark forest of trees and the smell of death hung in the air. You spotted only one person walking around and noticed a gargantuan, solid tree behind them. You were well and truly inside the Gnarled Wall, in the Bandit Lands.