Shadows and chill settled and piled atop one another in mottled heaps, dressing the damp, lichened masonry in rag-torn puddles of pale warmth as the meager light fiddled and flitted through bars and beams before coming to an uneasy rest in the grime. Shivering, hungry, cold, tired, sore...all were bearable, their cutting face dulled through the erosive effects of time passed. The only thing time amplified rather than wore away was the loneliness and, with each featureless day and maddening night, the bitter pits in every throat of Procampur's famed and long-standing Proctor Barrows gained soul-stiffening weight.

Newcomers, as in this city-state's rigid system one would expect, were in fact rare. The permissiveness of the city's laws, relegated nigh exclusively to the dock district, was an equal match for its litigious governmental district. If one wishes to break the law, they need merely hail a cart-boy and do their deeds legally--for the most part. Grand crimes aren't tolerated in the slightest, and Piracy, in this rich, thriving port city, stands atop several murdered corpses in the eyes of her gentry.

So it came to pass as quite the event when two new folk arrived one late eve--unconscious, dirty, and stripped of all but their smalls. One was a busty lass of exemplary shape. Multiple residents began celebration of this comely newcomer on impulse--such is the way of the bored and dehumanized. Their recreative hand-jives ceased all function as the tart's companion was dragged in. At first, the inmates assumed it was some person being drawn forth on a litter--likely crushed beyond lesser transportation's means to ensure bodily cohesion during his capture. Then, as the rubbery ropes stretched out behind the guardsmen and it became apparent they were attached to his face, curiosity grew morbid amidst the worn masonry and blackened iron bars.

The inmates promptly shivered and put their bio-toys back in their bins. They thought a good night's rest may be their best idea. It didn't help any of them much, as the next day dawned, other than to bear witness--however brief--to sickening, wanton slaughter in Procampur's tragic morning.

The few prisoners who were up this early--as sleep comes easy to those to whom waking hours are stagnant torture--emptied their meager bowels and slid their waste buckets to the walk. The "short straw" guardsman busied himself alternately distributing breakfast gruel and collecting yestereve's meals, processed though they were, and made a modest effort at keeping the two tasks relatively separated. He was duly thanked for good work with a lessening in his "grim-staring" wages.

Mid-breakfast, there ws another visitor, this one quite unusual: a man of wealth. GREAT wealth, by the looks of his fine clothes. Tool upon silk upon brocade upon velvet and more; thickly, lavishly swathed about his soft form. It was all tasteful, though--however much he spent on his clothes he must have spent an equal share to find a chamberlain up to the high task of combining everything, but tastefully. Such was the wealth of this man, and he payed handsomely to let it be known to all in his presence in the one language everyone understands: ye olde bling.

He trundled down the hall with a high ranking geoler and approached the newcomers' cell. He had upon his face the look of bravery braggarts posses when addressing securely caged lions. The guard was not impressed, but kept this to himself out of practice. The portly dandy smiled ruefully and motioned for the guard with a nod to the cell. A sword clanged upon the wrought bars called out to the two newcomers in certain, clanging syllables, thrusting them to an early and foggy rising.

"Up, you lot. Your accuser's 'ere to 'ave words at ya." The female rolled to her side and sat, drawing one knee to her ample chest, pressing it's trove up on one side and cantilevering her decoletage in a languid pictogram of invitation. This is to say nothing of her unladylike lower reaches and the breeze they currently experienced. She smiled sleepily and rested back on one elbow-cocked arm, rubbing the night from her eyes with her right hand, and cooed, "Ah, good morning, guvna." The rubbery, green-tinted beast of a man, all gangly limbs that looked more of eels and constrictor snakes than manly appendages, two thrusting from opposite sides of his midsection and wrapped around his torso and four bunched up within billowy jowls on his face, looked from one opened eye and twisted upright with disturbing grace. He didn't unfold from his fetal sleeping position so much as uncoil.

The wealthy merchant, recently delighted to discover these two moored in the city's docks, smiled ruefully. He'd lost several fortunes worth of cargo, more than a few ships, and heaping piles of trusted mariners to the scattered, wild meanderings of these ravening scoundrels. The woman was none other than the Dread Pirate Sacra, a scourge upon all free waters and the face of the Inner Sea's underbelly. When the folk of Procampur thought of the Pirate Isles, she more often than not was the face that sprang to mind. Lucky for them they'd not seen the company she kept, so disturbing was his visage even shrouded in morning gloom as it was. Shadows played reciprical effects on Sacra's form as she rose to her feet and swayed towards the bars, licking her lips subtly, and thrust her bosoms onto and through the cold iron enclosure with a cackling gusto. The merchant found his heart equidistant from a disturbed mind and a hard place.

Her ample bossum presented in all its spender spilling through the wrought iron bars she offers her most prized smile

" come ta ave a gawk ave ya guvna ? "


The lavishly dressed man neared only slightly just enough to get an appraiseing glance -- Stan also neared peering over her shoulder his floppy jawls quivering in evident admiration.

" Witty as ever Sacra " he stated as he peered into her cavernous cleavage.

" ere' well careful ya dont cut yaself eh" Sacra retorts with a sadistic grin.

With all the grace of a cat and prescision of a master marksmen stand loosed his oral extentions the long slimey appendages finding their mark assuredly in and about the Mans face and neck, penetrating the orephoses also making one of its on in his cheek.

" fuck me dead ' Champ " Sacra spat as she took a suprised step back immediately beginning to find the mirth in the situation as she retreats enough to see it in all its spender.

Not wasting a second Sacra flicks her foamy green stare toward the guard

" not lookin to good fer ya pal ere luv -- wish a simple twist of his" She closes her eyes a moment trying to think of a word for Champs weapons - " ere' he's fucked if ya dont 'and ova the key mate" the guard stared on with unbridled momentary horror at Stans lash out.

He looked back to the still grinning Sacra the tossed the large key ring through the bars at her -- " and our shit mate - hey oi ya limey cocksucker 'et back ere, fuck" as the guard fled from the cell down the stairs Sacra turnt to Stan and shrugged " o'well got the key least eh"

Inserting the key Sacra smiled and clicked her tongue as she heard that satisfying click of an opening lock -- giving the cage door a jaunty shove she springs forth from the threshold of their cold room breathing the air anew she looked back to Stan " c'mon then"

Stand worked his slime teathers about the rich mans face juggleing him until he removes the bars from between them, drawing him firmly against himself as they step beside Sacra, The wench cast her peer down both ends of the stone corridore

" up or down Champ ?"

" wot r u athkin me fawr Thacra you thoose "

" fuck -- 'elpful as eva Champ cheers' "

She stalked slowly toward the stairs leading downward -- glanceing back to Stan and his catch as it wriggles in him slimey grasp -- growling stan reels him back in -- Sacra cussed lightly as she heard footfalls hitting the stone stairs

" c'mpnay Champ "

Again the freight master squirmed hearing what he so dearly hoped was his rescue bounding up the stairs with such a metalic clank -- only this time it gave Stan the shits something shocking and he drove his slimey lentgths further into the mans skull couling around his brain and tearing it from its base bit by bit depositing the fleshy grey matter into his gapeing maw -- just then the guards crest the steps three by three in the small corridor stopping to gasp as Stand weilded the lifeless Master like a limp puppet.

Sacra herself watched on with slight fright at the spectacle her momentary pause not costing her too much time she sprun forth toward one of the guards unsheathing one of his daggers and stepping back beside her monsterous companion before the guard was able to notice -- cackleing madly she waggled her eyebrows at the guards

"precious aint he "

Stan then inserted one of his tenticles through the mans back door finding its way around the spine and began to move his mouth emitting his own sloppy chuckle

" bloody 'ell' Sacra shook her head at the sight still unable to hide her amusement she takes another step back as stand drops the man lashing out with all of his slimey appendages this time collideing with one of the gawking guards knocking his sheild from his hand and punctureing through his chain links and chest -- the guard recoiled painfuly fromt he blow another guard stepping up to take his place.

Immediately Sacra spun on her heels and bolted the other way down the corridor to check where the stairs at that end led -- rounding the lip almost hasted she skids to a halt as she finds a dead end with a barred window -- she closes the distance noticeing that window was the means with which the guard would dispose of the prisioners waste -- her nose instantly screwing up at the mess that sat below their only way out and spotted a still half full bucket just under the cill.

Scoffing at the smell and sight she quickly changes her tune -- letting out a squeal of excitement she scoops up the bucket of muck and makes her way back to Stan and the guard

" the fuck out the way Champ c'min through " She shouted as she rounded the wall ducking slightly as she passes by Stand and hurling the bucket with all the force she could muster -- it his its mark as if it were guided by Tyamora herself busting one of the guards square in the nose blood bursting forth as the bucket splinters and splashes the Heinous contents all over the two guards at the head of the snake -- both men copletely disgusted and on the verge of sick they fell back in the line -

" cop that ya b'stards " Sacra cackled madly she turns to pin Stans position -- her maniacal chitter cut dead short as she spots Stand bounding around the corner of the stairwell standing a good 5 feet taller then usual and much much wider " fuck that " she half said half laughed and ducks back into the cell to watch on with mixed horror and fascination as Stand proceeds to lob his long slimey reach at the guards completely devestateing their resolve as well as their persons -- now only two stand to obstruct

Sacra spills out from the cage once more weaving around and bobbing under stans sprawled tendrils as takes the dagger she keifed from the guard earlier and pricks one of the remaining guards in the leg as stan pounds his partner square in the chest sending him flying back a few feet to his behind

" oi ' ye payin a'tention ere lad "

The guard fixes Sacra with such a look of umbrage before looking back to stan and decideing very quickly that it would be best to flee at this point -- At which Stan and Sacra found themselves almost doubled over in laughter.

Their mirthful guffaws was broken up quickly into staccato rhythms by their footfalls, coming quicker than the armored guard's, as they gave chase. Sacra moved first to overtake the guard before she heard larger, more ridiculous counterpoints start up from behind her.

"Wun thide, Thacwa!" She obliged, again diving lithely into a cell and spinning, arms wrapped up on the cell door, to see with equal parts morbid fascination and sadistic glee her ally's grisly, undulating work. She was not kept waiting long, nor was the boatman for the late guard's arrival on his murky shores.

"Atta boy, champ! This way, then--we'll recover our effects down there an' bust outta this hole." Down the stairs they went, Pete's form returning to "normal," with Sacra in the lead keeping sharper ears and eyes attuned to the way ahead and Stan keeping pace with his freakish gait, a newly acquired longsword of servicable condition and a stout wooden shield bearing the crest of the geolers flapping gaily behind him amongst his tentacles as a child chased by a grisly kite.

Sacra ducked into an unoccupied room and the two began looting it at abandon, searching for something else that could help them, as a gangly youth burst into the room and skittered away. The two escapees looked quickly to each other and struck balanced poses, ready to strike, before the lad's voice sprang out of his mouth. "Are you the Dread Pirate Sacra?"

Prodigious chest inflated with easily augmented pride, ever present if at worst just out of focus was her self-appraised worth, her hands rested on her hips and she cocked her head to wink at a confused Stan. "Maybe, lad. An 'at 'epends on 'oo's askin', dunnit? 'Oo are ya, then?"