Utterly Mad

Mana fades...
The light has left this land, this blighted land.
Darvic.
Once there were mighty kings here, Lords of Mana and Sword, subjugating all that lay before them.
Now, only twisted reflections remain.
You have traveled to this Land, perhaps seeking adventure, perhaps seeking a glorious death, perhaps seeking power.
You have arrived at the Border Keep, Metmora. Before you sits a sword in the snow before the keep, and the corpse of a traveler who failed to make it.

As you approach the sword,you hear a range of questions, booming forth from no source in particular.
---Sheet---
State your name:
For what purpose have you traveled to Darvic:
What land do you hail from:
What do you carry:
What do you look like:
What have you done before this:
---End---
After you answer the questions, the sword beams forth several beams brilliant blue light, enveloping you.
You awaken in a dark cell, with several other travellers.
---End IC---
Alrighty, so i am starting a new play by post, if you cant tell, very dark souls inspired in terms of tone and themes, if not challenge. All actions will be determined based on a Die Roll between 1-10,  based on Stats. Woo, Stats.
you have 30 points between  7 stats
Vim:How difficult you are to harm
Vigour:How long you can keep going
Agility:How hard you are to hit
Strength:How strong you are
Skill:How skilled you are at weapon usage
Mana:How well you can channel  mana
Luck:How lucky you are
Hopefully this one wont die, lets try and have fun.

State your name: "Darwin."
For what purpose have you traveled to Darvic: "I'm a highwayman, I wander from place to place. I happen to come up here."
What land do you hail from: The Wilhelm estate was the closest thing he had to a home.
What do you carry: A rifled flintlock pistol, a dagger, gunpowder, a set of gun cleaning gear, and minie balls.
What do you look like: A 6'7 male with dirty blonde hair and rough stubble. He's dressed in a reinforced overcoat with a brown fur lining, that may dull stabs, a pair of plain pants, a pair of leather boots, leather gloves, a small rucksack, a belt with a holster, a gunpowder horn, and a pouch of minie balls, a red scarf that he wears over his face.
What have you done before this: "I'm a highwayman now, I was a highwayman then."

---

Vim: 7
Vigour: 5
Agility: 5
Strength: 4
Skill:5
Mana: 0
Luck: 4

After Forrest finishes his sheet, we can go. If y'all are ready.

Awesome.
You all come to. The first thing you are aware of is the searing pain of manacles drawn too tight about wrists and ankles. As you gaze about the room, you see that it is a small cell, circular, perhaps 10 feet in diameter. All three of you are chained to the walls next to each other, with a menagerie of skeletal corpses arrayed around you, still wearing decaying clothing and disintegrating armor. An intense smell of mold and rot fills the room. The chains that bind you are exceedingly rusty. You can see your weaponry piled atop a heap of rusted blades at the center of the room.
You can hear a rasping outside of the blackened wood door.

Tyrid's eyelids open slowly, heavily, tenants on a face aged by experience and hardship. He blinks once, twice, turns his helmeted head to one side, then the other, and calmly yawns through the iron bars covering his visage. "Well. Unexpected, to say the least." He mutters. Not to the others chained to the wall with him. Just words for the sake of words. He takes another small glance at the chains on his right wrist, and, bracing his biceps, pulls at them experimentally, hoping the rust and corrosion of age has weakened them.

Darwin:
Rolls 1d10 against Luck:2
You quickly note a loose brick in the wall next to you, and it takes minimum effort to slide it out of the wall and
Rolls 1d10 against Strength+3(easy check):6
Smash down on the chain several times, eventually snapping it down the middle.
---
Tyrid:
Rolls 1d10 against strength:2
You pull on the iron manacle, and it shatters down the middle, age threatening the integrity of the iron.
---
Letholdus:
Rolls 1d10 against strength:5
You strain against you chains, and eventually the wall beneath them gives way, a brick flying out, chains still attached.

Tyrid flexes his arms, a little sore after breaking the chains. "Right then. Don't suppose either of you are the talkative type, then. I'd say that's fine with me." He glances at Darwin through his helm, nodding. "This one's got the right idea." He mumbles, reaching down to pick his pockmarked, rusty blade up from the pile, the iron vaguely shining in the dim light, along with his equally corroded little bearded axe. Taking a firm grip on the hilt of his sword, he positions himself on the side of the door, so if/when something opens it up, he'll be in their/its blind spot.

Make a sheet, I can worm you into the session later.
Mr Nocamera has roughly a day before the RP train progresses without him. Chugga chugga choo choo.