Journal of the Dark One

[The room that appears is made up mostly of Victorian decor, a fine bed, the desk upon which it sits, a Tiffany lamp casts a mosaic of rich color across the room behind the speaker, whose entire frame is cloaked in shadow. He's dressed in simple business attire, shoulder-length hair framing his face, and the lines and contours of his face are barely visible, just enough to barely discern expression.]

A prison ship, they say. With very few locked doors, I've come to find.

[A scottish accent, gentle in tenor, even pleasant.]

Not to worry. I haven't taken advantage. As I understand, there's hardly much need for locked doors when there's no way off. A mysterious Admiral who takes his prisoners as he pleases, with seemingly boundless magic at his disposal, and a community of policemen to govern them.

Policemen, who, as it appears to me, have wishes only magic can grant. Some that even magic cannot.

I would like to know more -- from anyone willing to impart this information. It's important that we all better understand one another, is it not? 

To begin, I suppose introductions are in order. Where I was before? Most knew me as Gold, but here? 

[He reaches to turn on a lamp on the desk, and his strange visage is brought to bear in all its glory. He smiles.]

You might as well call me Rumpelstiltskin. Lovely to meet all of you.

[Filtered to the Admiral]

If you have the power to bring people here, and if this ship is what I believe it to be, then you have the power to reverse it. I don't know if you truly believe that I and others here like me should have second chances. Honestly, I don't care.

Return me to where you found me.

(ooc: This entry was made several hours after this log.)