[center][h3][i]Chapter One[/i][/h3][/center]
[hr][center][h3][sub][sub][i]"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." ~ H.P. Lovecraft[/i][/sub][/sub][/h3][/center][hr][center][h3][sub][i]M a r c u s   R o m a n[/i][/sub][/h3][/center]
[sub][sub][h3][i]Armistice - The Dungeons - 500 HP[/i][/h3][/sub][/sub][hr]
	For a while, he just gazed at his muddled reflection in the dirty water. Though the suds were beginning to dissipate, the sheer amount of grime still did an admirable job of keeping the watery mirror from clearly reflecting anything. It was probably better this way or at least that's what he thought. He was afraid that seeing himself in the water would somehow confirm the reality of the situation not being a dream. Marcus Roman had indeed been pardoned by the ICC and subsequently ordered to undertake some kind of quest for them--effectively a new death sentence in his mind. What they were asking for was simply too unreasonable; he was to travel with a group of other [i]volunteers[/i] to find the answer to a question that had held no such answer for almost a millennium. This was the literal definition of stupidity, but in the end it did not matter much to Marcus. 

	How long had he been in that cell? Two years now? Maybe a short while to the average man working day in and day out to provide a living for his family, but not one who had been forced to endure the company of rats and whips. Of course, it was never the sentence that bothered Marcus. The way he had been caught was brought about by his own actions, but the fact that those actions had affected someone else's life--one whom he cared deeply for--was the thing he could not live with. This immense feeling of regret was the only sentiment he would cling to during his life in prison. It was the driving force behind his will to survive his brutal tenure. When the guards came that fateful day and delivered the news that he had been pardoned, a brief glimmer of hope sparked within before being unceremoniously blown out with the next few paragraphs. And so he had been given chambermaids with orders to prepare the man for his release from prison and the journey ahead which would be started as soon as possible. The bath--a luxury he found he very much appreciated after two years--was part of these preparations. 

	Marcus did not notice that his back was done being scrubbed when the voice of a chambermaid roused him from his daydream. He looked up and remembered that he was in a more luxurious room than he'd ever been in probably in the entirety of his life. Brightly colored walls, silk red curtains, large and expensive looking paintings, and an ornate fireplace surrounded him. Even the basin housing his dirty water was made of finished mahogany with ebony handles affixed to each side. He stepped out of the basin and onto the marble floor much to the dismay of the maid who had been trying to place a towel there first. It had been a long while since Marcus was stark naked in front of a woman, let alone a few women at the same time, but he took no pleasure in the situation. The full length mirror in front of him was his current fascination. 

	It had been two years since the retired knight had seen himself at all. The old scars and battle wounds that littered his torso and limbs were still there along with newly set scars courtesy of the fine prison staff. Two years of forced manual labor had kept his musculature mostly intact, but he felt a bit lighter than before probably due to the lack proper nourishment. Death row inmates were not really entitled to any sort of basic human rights in the dungeons, but the ICC had been adamant about keeping Marcus in proper shape for some reason or another. His face had taken on the greatest change in his opinion. His eyes were still green and the expression he had molded in his knighthood was as strong as ever, but he appeared to be aged. It was then that he remembered his birthday had passed--twice. He was once again roused to reality by another voice. 

	"Your clothes and equipment have been washed, pressed, and cleaned to military standards. We have been instructed to leave you to dress and another will take you to your destination." The chambermaids quickly exited, one taking a final glance behind her before shutting the door and leaving Marcus to be naked by himself. He stepped over to a waist high table and let out a long exhale. It was all there of course. His navy blue garments and gold plates that composed his armor and the blade and bow that had made him somewhat famous in the criminal underworld. They were also reminders--reminders of the true reason Marcus had not fought against this new direction the government was sending him in. He decided he was done wasting time reminiscing and getting lost in thought. Now was the time for action and he would only have this one chance to amend his greatest failure. 

	Marcus dressed quickly and did not even return to the mirror to examine himself. The weight of his blade, quiver, and bow was a lot heavier on his back than he remembered, but he figured he would grow used to the extra heft over time. He exited the room to find two royal knights waiting to escort him. He nodded to them and the trio made the trip passed the other dungeon cells, up stairs, through corridors, and eventually out of the dungeon compound itself. The world outside was at least the same as Marcus remembered. Armistice was huge and the citizens were going about business as if the state of the world outside the city walls did not exist. Marcus was escorted down a cobbled path and he could see the eastern gate looming in the distance. He could also see several other figures and what looked to be a representative of the ICC waiting near that gate. 

	This was it. There was the group and there was the gate.