Another massive explosion thundered, closer this time, perhaps no more than a few blocks away, accompanied by the usual chorus of bloodcurdling screams and hysterical wails. The acrid odor of burned charcoal drifted in from the tiny barred window. Brigid leaned against the cold stone wall and shut her eyes, trying to block it all out.<br/><br/>Another explosion tore at her ears. The entire tower rocked, plaster dust snowed on her, peppering her caked mess of mousy hair with white specks. But apart from that, the invasion could be a world away.<br/><br/>She couldn’t help a wry smile from forming on her lips. By a strange stroke of luck, Brigid found herself in possibly the best spot in all of Eastborne to shelter from the siege: the city’s fortified prison.<br/><br/><i>Now how did I, a simple honest herb gatherer, end up in a cell again?</i><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">**​</div><br/>Unionize - it was all the rage in Eastborne some years ago. Trade unions of every profession under the sun sprang up like weeds. Eventually, they all came to call themselves by the same word - guilds. And few wield as much power as the Physicians Guild. Within the gilded walls of their grand guildhall, doctors, surgeons and pharmacists of Eastborne divided up the city districts, fixed prices, and indulged in the luxuries their lofty profession (and such shady deals) afforded them.<br/><br/>So when tittle-tattle reached them of a precocious herbalist peddling homemade cures on the street, cutting into their profits, their breeches got in a real twist. Wheels were greased, favors called in, coins exchanged hands under tables, and orders surreptitiously whispered in ears. The city guard got Brigid with an old trick from the playbook - the sting operation. One of their number pretended to have trouble performing his marital duties and sought out the herbalist. To their surprise the ‘master herbalist’ was no more than a willowy girl, barely of legal age, who could not, and did not, put up much of a fight.<br/><br/>Brigid had been locked behind bars since the last full moon, awaiting trial on six counts of trafficking in illegal herbs and two counts of tax evasion. Her trial was indefinitely postponed by the city’s defensive preparations.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">**​</div><br/>She re-opened her eyes. The pandemonium outside didn’t bother Brigid as much as the incessant rattling of cast iron grille close by. It came courtesy of her cellmate – a blonde buxom tart of Brigid’s age – who was held on charges of prostitution. Unlike herself, Brigid had a hunch her cellmate is stone cold guilty.<i>But who am I to judge. Pot, kettle, black. I suppose I am guilty by the letter of the law too.</i><br/><br/>“Help! Help! Anyone? Let us out!!” the other woman bellowed, her shrill voice echoed in the empty walkways. She had been going at it since the siege began.<br/><br/>Brigid finally had enough. “<b>Will you cut it out, Em? You saw the jailors press ganged into the city guard. Nobody’s coming back for us… even though they took a real liking to you. Come on…</b>” she patted a spot on the tattered cot next to her, “<b>save your strength. I figure our best hope is for one of these boulders to smash a hole in the wall. We'll get out that way. I know the small streets and sewers like the back of my hand. I’ll find us a way out of Eastborne through all the craziness.</b>” And in Brigid’s mind, this wasn’t some fanciful pipe dream. She truly believed she – or they - could survive yet.<br/><br/>The last couple weeks have forced the unlikely pair to bond over their hellish circumstances. The jailors, in truth, took a liking to harassing both girls, taking perverse pleasure in these two birds – attired in threadbare grey tunics barely past their buttocks – under their thumbs.  Em was forced to give nightly samples of her services in the dungeon.  Brigid struck a deal: she would whip up ointments and potions for the jailors’ sore knees, hangovers and such like; in exchange they promised not to lay a finger on her. The guardsmen held up their end of the bargain. Brigid?<i>Kind of.</i>Her handiwork did what it advertised, but each was laced with a slow-acting poison designed to kill only after considerable mortal suffering.<br/><br/><i>Well… thanks to the Empire, her conscience is much clearer now. By the sound of it, poison or not, they have already perished in the siege. Although those perverts had it coming anyways.</i>