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Now that's the real old style of devil-may-care!
A rogue you are, a rogue you always were.
-The Witch

ESCAPE FROM GUILESATPEAK:

Well, this is just great. Here I am, in this putrid cell awaiting my so-called redemption to the builder of these wretched lands, while your average psycho roams free among the horde in our streets. Down here, I'm rarely given enough light to see my own hands, and when a watchman does cometh along with his quaint lantern and trendy water pouch, revealed become the mawkish stones on the walls, shrouded with mold so thick that any horticulturalist would rank it healthier then I am. The stench is horrible, or at least I remembered how awful it was when I could bring myself to pay attention to it, and the air here is rotten enough to make rats swell up and burst from ichor they didn't even know was in them. It seems like a few days ago, though I'm not even sure I've been here for an hour yet, I was thrown into this place alleged of advocating insanity and murder
of a nobleman: the truth is, they knew exactly what they were going to do with my ass when they found me red-handed. I never saw anything worth rounding up cattle, and had I killed anyone related to the esquires whose trinkets I flitted, I would have ensured myself a sensible cover-up.
I scald regularly by a duo of rock solid Hammers. They bring me into a small room linked to the goal office. From the way that last Hammers treated me, I've got no less than a few days before I be shipped to the town square's gallows for a gaudy public execution in the name of freedom. I got rid of my bindings early on with the help of wooden picks I made from the decaying corbels, but something tells me getting out of this complex won't be as simple.
I managed to stay as faithful as possible during my sojourn at the Hammers' Guilesatpeak Prison by recollecting extracts from The Stone and singing old songs: pitch darkness leaves me little choice, and I'd be gone long ago if it weren't for those enduring words; I've got to find a decent lock-pick and get out of here ere I lose any more strength.
Guilesatpeak is an unusual place for the hammers to hide prisoners. No doubt they put me here because I already know Craigscleft like the back of my hand. This place is conjointly used as a storage depot; all the junk the hammers don't need any-more is shipped here and left to rot (the other prisoners are no exception). From what I can piece together by the gaoler's complaints, I'm about two stories below ground level. I know there's an important library on the main floor, and a courtyard where the hammers usually train afternoons. There's also a janitor that is often mentioned. His name is Xavier, and probably could lend me a hand if I play my cards right. I think he was supposed to clean what the gaoler calls the "turbine room" today. Maybe I could meet him there...
The first logical thing to do after I figure a way out of my cell would be to get some weapons. If I'm lucky, the hammers chucked my gear with the rest of the trash in the depot. Then, all I need to do is get out.

TUTTOCOMB'S TOMB:

This entrance should do the trick. According to the information I picked up from Guilesatpeak, I should be able to enter Tuthomath's tomb from here. I wish I still had my blackjack with me, but I've got to move it if I want to find at least a dab of loot left. With any luck, the Hammerite expedition won't bother me too much; luck is something I'm going to have to count on if I want to succeed here--especially if those rumors about this place being haunted are true... I just hope the dead will tolerate us.

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