>>5450630After cleaning yourself up a bit and licking your wounds, you rendezvous with Jack and Thoth to charter a ferry from the old harbor to the Château d'If.
Thanks to your victory at the back-alley fights, you’re able to secure a private tour of the island by offering the requisite parties a healthy bribe. That way, you don’t need some idiotic tourist snapping pictures of Jack and accidentally bookmarking your path through Europe.
If you’re going to draw heat, then it better be because of something much more worthwhile.
As the ferry draws closer to the prison isle, you can’t help but be a bit excited.
Back when you were doing time in the slammer, <span class="mu-i">The Count of Monte Cristo</span> became one of your favorites for reasons that should be self evident.
But as soon as you begin touring the cells, you begin to experience some unpleasant memories.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRco-4WItdUThe dark, windowless cages remind you uncomfortably of your time spent in solitary confinement; locked away from the world and left to stew in your own rage and self-pity.
However, this particular hellhole makes FCI Fairton and Belle Reve look like the Four Seasons.
You don’t even need Magesight to know that this place practically reeks with latent power from the hundreds, if not thousands that met a slow and gruesome end in these cells.
To satisfy your own curiosity and help keep your mind off the past, you flare your magic and provide a beacon for a willing soul to follow. Not that you throw the doors wide open or anything, that’d be nigh-suicidal.
A small part of you hopes that the titular Conte of Monte Cristo himself would answer your call, but you have no such luck. Instead, you summon a much more humble spirit; an emaciated man whose face and features are enveloped entirely with shadow.
You can tell from a quick appraisal that this spirit is nowhere near the strength of Gaius; this must be a shade, a pitiful remnant of a damned spirit which clings to its lost past.
Despite being clothed in bloody rags and possessing an obviously malnourished frame, the spirit proudly introduces itself as Jean Georges Brissot; soldier of the Revolution.
