[IC] Rerun: Blackguards!

[Red Wizard]

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In the Belly of the Beast

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Darkness.

You are awake.

You are alive.

You must break free.

Open your eyes.

You force your eyelids open, grunting and groaning with effort as if a great weight has been placed upon them by an unknown hand. Your mind feels unfocused and your flesh trembles with weakness. Why this is, you cannot say. There is no memory of what came before this moment, only the distant recollection of your defeat and the subsequent disorganized days of incarceration. How long have you been in this place, this Maw? There is no answer. There has only been darkness, and silence, and the cold. But now, there is light. You blink your eyes, trying to adjust your blurred vision. You catch a shadow of movement to your side, but is powerless to investigate. Growling, you try to move your limbs, but to no avail.

You have woken. That voice –

You shut your eyes once more, not sure you are ready to face her again. Face it again. But there is no escape. No matter how hard you try, you cannot break free. With a final grunt of frustration, you open your eyes to face the terror. This time, your vision is clear.

You're in a large chamber, dimly lit by a ghastly blueish light of unknown origin. The stone walls are damp with moisture, rising upwards into a vault above. There are other entities here, their forms veiled in shadow, but you barely notice any of this. You only have eyes for the entity that stands before you in the center of the room. The moment your gaze falls upon her face, despair takes hold of your heart with merciless talons of ice.

The Warden.

She (It? You're not sure the Warden can be counted as a woman) stands perfectly still, observing you. Your mind screams whenever you lay eyes upon her; something is wrong. It is as if she is not really there, not real at all, but at the same time the only real thing in the room. Even the light and the shadows seem to fall upon her incorrectly, as if they have a conscience of their own and are reluctant to touch the abomination. Time stretches, your heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

The Warden remains motionless, as if you aren't there. You strain again, but cannot move. Inspecting your body, you find no bounds. You're upright, clothed as you had been the day of your capture, still as a statue. You grunt again, your frustration mingled with panic, fruitlessly straining against the invisible force holding you in place.

Patience, the Warden says, her voice like breaking glass. All in due time. They are waking.

The very next moment, one of the shadowed figures begins to stir.

[BigPapaBelial]

The Infernomancer

Ricon Fields

The Maw

Inspiration

Dance to my Tune

"It's today then?"

"Yeah we need to get him prepped, this came down directly from the Warden."

"Lords forgive us when that one is looking at one of these fools."

"Get back off your door now! Don't make me set off the traps!"

A roll of laughter through the this section of the holding cells. As no less then sixteen guards in heavy armor, with lashes, truncheons, and shields make their way down. A madman on one side of the hall cackles and slams himself against his door. Making two of the gaurds turn and set off that cells security, dousing the man with a sleeping spell. They turn it off then catch up with the others.

"Who is it?"

"Fields."

"Fields? What did he do to piss someone off? He's been good the last few days?!"

"I know but it's the Warden, we get in there subdue him, and make him ready, taking him to Isolation until the Warden is ready for him."

"That's why there are so many of us. Makes sense."

At the far far end of the hall is about 100 feet of bare stone walls, no cells near a single cell door that's locked with heavy lengths of Dwarven adamant chain, elven mithril locks, and rugged orcish banding. Anything to keep the thick alloy door on the cell from being compromised. As the guards approach and filter into the two alcoves next to the cell either side of the door, one of them pounds on it and shoves open the small hatch for conversation and handing in food trays.

A voice from within calls, "Dinner already? It's not even six bells yet." A hand snakes out of the hatch briefly, slender but weathered, "Otis? Malachi? Are you out there?" A truncheon comes down and slams on the hand, making the man within pull it back with a hiss of pain, "Oh so it's like that is it?"

"Stack up, tower shields in front, push poles behind them! Make ready the lashings and bindings."

The voice calls out, "Oh is that how it's going to be my boys?" There's a soft chuckle as a faint yellow light flares from within. A chittering sound from within adding to the moment.

"Ready!? Fields! Get back from the door."

The man inside the cell chuckles, "Mortagin? Is that you? How's the burn? It healing? Oh do come in."

"Ready the door! Conrad, Nolan!"

Two guards step forth and start working on the chains, and locks. One of them passes in front of the still open hatch, then screams, a jet of flame blasts out from within scorching his stomach. Fields, the man within chuckles, "Really should pay attention."

"Damn it! We were careless. Get the spells ready!"

The guard who had caught the flame to the stomach gets up and tries again, when another jet of flame lashes out and nearly catches him in the face this time, "Careful Conrad! I don't want to mar that pretty face!"

"Now!"

The last lock and chain swings free, and the ice and water spells inside the cell flash! Dousing Ricon Fields with shards of ice and a deluge of water, that quickly drains out of the room. Just as the door heaves open, and the guards charge in, screaming, "Get down Fields! Get down!"

But Ricon Fields, aka The Infernomancer does not get down. He clocks one of the guards across the face with a wooden plate, sending hims sprawling, another he catches in the knee with a kick, before the others swarm him and lock him into a corner.

But yet he still struggles, until a sleeping spell hits him...

And he knows only blackness.

---

Until he doesn't.

It's a voice. A sweet voice, an almost kindly voice that wakes him. Ricon, blinks and looks around.

What the honest to the Inferno is going on?

And as he comes too, he realizes, he's not in that thick itchy home spun tunic the Maw dressed him in. He's in his linen Pyromancers robe. His pauldrons, gauntlets and greaves are on his body. His grimoire hangs at his belt by the fire blacked chain. And Embershard rests in the leather scabbard at his hip.

And then he looks to his side and sees...Her.

He stares at Her.

He narrows his eyes and tests his bindings, then whispers, to Her. The Warden, "Still playing games? Still playing with us? Too scared to face any of us yet?" He grunts then shudders her words in his head, "Patience...you...want...wait..."

And he can see the others. There are others there. He stares at Her balefully, "What is this...?"

[Abstract Proxy]

Sariel

The moon above the grassland was the color of bone, charred by steady fires.

She had been there before. They all had. The Guards. The Prisoners. The Maw. And her. Always her. The Warden. And the dead. Always the dead.

Strange stars glittered in the sky. More stars than she could recall. More stars than she could count. Twilight beckoned, a dying pale blue light reaching out to touch her skin. Sariel shivered, feeling a cold wind. Revealed by starlight, untold grave markers emerged from the darkness. The names were faded, the symbols obscured. A ruined tower loomed in the distance, accompanied by great stones scattered across the ground. She did not feel unwelcome. And so Sariel lingered.

Whispers rose slowly.

Whispers grew into a sea of voices. She heard tongues long faded from the world. Words heavy with unspoken meaning. In the space between, she could hear magic woven. Subtle patterns of arcane threads, deft use of the high art, magic molded into gentle designs intended to persuade her. She listened. Pleased at the offered courtesies. Impressed by the skillful manner that they had summoned her. The dead spoke wisely. There was wisdom in what they suggested. There was truth in their ragged warnings. There was kindness, real kindness, in their offer. It would be easy to remain. It would be easier to stay. She could feel the thread that chained her soul to her body. It was a thin and fragile thing. She could cut it easily. She could escape. She had only to accept.

A mirror flickered into existence. Shattered even as it appeared. Midnight bending impossibly as light recoiled, fleeing the fragmented metal that drifted through the air towards her. Another voice spoke. Quieter than the dead. Quieter still, and yet overpowering. Unbearable, with each soundless syllable and unuttered word. The dead grew silent, with dread she thought, but did not know. Sariel felt a burning cold consume her, fog settling slowly across her eyes, scattering the fell apparitions that encircled her.

You have woken. That voice –

Sariel awoke to a graying darkness. The dim light that her elven eyes allowed her. How much time had passed since her last interrogation she could not say. Not reliably. Not by any valid measure. And not with any certainty. She could not divine the plane that she was on. She knew only that she was still in the Maw. Of this she was certain. There was no time to seek answers. Her questions were too many. Her need for answers did not matter. She could wait. The dead could wait. The Warden would not. She had grasped her situation. She had understood. She had been summoned by another. She had been called. Not just by the dead. Not thence.

The Warden was there. The stars were gone. The moon had fallen. Power swirled over the shadows. Sariel watched the Warden, enraptured by the wrongness that she felt, the dagger that slipped painlessly into her mind. It was an ancient feeling. A feeling that she could not recognize at first. Fear. An old reminder that she had once committed to memory. An old friend. And an older teacher. Amusement pulled at the corner of her lips. She had thought herself removed from such base emotions. Pathetic remnants of her discarded heart. Tasting the unwelcome sensation, Sariel shuddered with excitement. She felt alive. She felt renewed by the horror that overwhelmed her. Here was something to understand. Something to study. Something to learn. And something to channel. Power, true power.

She held no attachment to the righteousness of reality. Let the Warden twist the very truth of the world. That was magic. Real magic. High magic of the highest sort. The fear was a gift. The terror was a lesson. She would treasure it, no matter the intention. Sariel knew many things. She knew of magic. She knew of the undead. She knew of the planes of existence. She knew of what lay beyond. She knew of creatures that existed far removed from mortal eyes. And yet, she knew nothing of the Warden. She knew nothing of the nature of the creature that had imprisoned her. She knew nothing of the magic that had ensnared her. And she could not name the Warden.

Discerning that the restraints holding her had loosened, Sariel shifted steadily, permitting her muscles to awaken. The magic that had bound her vanished in angles she could not follow, splintering beyond the ether. The fragments of magic disappeared with bursts of power that Sariel found dreadfully delightful to sample. Her fascination did not leave her as her senses returned to her with each slow beat of her heart. There was a familiar weight in her arms and Sariel looked down to see an arcane grimoire in her hands. It was hers, she knew. Her fingers moved desperately over the inlaid silver, tracing the runes she had engraved in her own delicate hand. Her ornate silver dagger rested in a sheath on her hip, as if she had never been forced to relinquish it. The souls held within brushed against her, warmly greeting her once more. And she was dressed in her robes, her finest robes, not the tattered clothes that they had mockingly left her.

Curiosity stirred deep within her. Sariel suspected no kindness. She expected no mercy. She did not desire forgiveness. The Warden would not release her. The Warden would not arm her. The Warden would not awaken her. Not without a need. And not without a purpose. Sariel would not beg. She would not yell. She would not scream. She would not threaten. She would not fight against the Warden. Change loomed on the horizon and she did not need the gift of prophecy to see that she was outmatched. The Warden was strong. The Warden was stronger than all of the prisoners gathered in the Maw. It did not hurt her to admit it.

Patience, the Warden says, her voice like breaking glass. All in due time. They are waking.

Faint movements and angry words from nearby drew Sariel’s attention. She might have laughed once. Chortled to hear such misplaced arrogance. Instead she waited. She knew her place. She knew her role. She had no need to prove herself. She had no wish to lash out. The Warden was in charge. The Warden was all that mattered. Watching. Waiting. Perched atop the spider web she had woven through the Maw. Perhaps beyond the Maw as well. Outside of her cell, Sariel could think. She could study the situations arrayed in front of her. She could find answers. So long as she was free. So long as she was awake. So long as she had time. The Warden was right. Sariel needed to be patient. She needed to listen. And she needed to move slowly.

Lifting the hem of her robes, as if wearing a formal gown, Sariel offered a respectful curtsy to the Warden. There was no fear in her movements and no haste. She would listen. There was no need to speak. She would hear what the Warden had to say…or not to say. She wanted to, Sariel knew, recognizing without any anger that she had already chosen.

[MrSkimobile]

Brorin Foul

You have woken.

Brorin's eye flickered open. His breath, stuck in his throat. His heart, aflutter, yet heavy, weighed down by a magic ancient and terrible, waiting for him. Disorientation. A mere whisper never stirred him from his sleep here in the Maw. No, here he was safe, watched by friends, as he watched them. But this whisper? This one did. He felt the familiar streaks of cold tracing his body. All of it. And it was damp, like it was after a night filled with delirious dreams. and through the haze...

That voice –

That voice –

"Here to gloat at me once more, she-devil?" Brorin gasped, barely managing to push the words from his throat, stiffened by her invisible chains. It could well have been a death rattle, unless...

Patience, the Warden says, her voice like breaking glass.

Yes, he remembered the first time she revealed herself to him. Appeared in all her vainglory. Made a mockery of him. Beauty. A woman. The only one who never flinched when she saw his half-decayed form. Who gave him a second chance, or whatever this was. How dare she. Brorin gritted his teeth. Was it anger, fear?

All in due time. They are waking.

He heard the stirring forms around him. Who were they? Hearing their bodies move it was clear he wasn't with his own kind anymore. No, no dragging limbs, they were too controlled. Their breaths too... perfect. So then... What was he doing here? Why was he chosen?

All in due time.

[Eviledd1984]

Azir

Azir opened her eyes to the sound of a voice speaking to her.“Shut up, me want to go back to sleep.” She yelled loudly, shaking her face at the voice. She rubbed her head, feeling like someone had kicked her head like a ball. The large ogre was scratching her head with one of her giant hands. She wanted to go back to sleep, but for some reason, she knew she couldn’t. First, she noticed she wasn’t chained up; this was nice because she could move freely. But for some reason she couldn't move at all. She didn’t understand what they were talking about, compounded by the fact she was also imprisoned. These two factors made the ogre quite angry. Looking in the direction of the voice, she was curious who this person was and what they were talking about.

“What you mean? Speak!!” Yelling again, which perhaps everyone could hear. She didn’t understand what they meant by being patient and that other people were awakening. Were there other prisoners here that she had spoken to? The ogre was starting to pace back and forth in her cell, pondering or trying to ponder what was happening. Feeling her stomach rumbling, the hunger began to set in because she hadn’t eaten in a few hours. She wondered if she was going to eat anything.

She closed her eyes and grunted, trying not to let the hunger get to her. She thought about her baby and what they would have been like. She was swallowing loudly, feeling the anger coming back in full force. The loss of her mate and baby was more painful than any injury she had sustained. Small tears were running down her cheeks.

[Drifting Pollen]

Svanhild

She dreamed of a distant land, of thin grasses dusted with a light brush of snow.

The frigid air clenched around her like a fist, every bit as heavy as the dead beast she carried slung over one shoulder. No sound could be heard for miles around outside of the steady pant of her own breath, and the weighty crunch of her footsteps as she forced her way uphill. A vast and merciless figure loomed above, and sneered down at her struggles with eyes bereft of all compassion.

"Still so frail, Svanhild. You march like a wounded wolf hastening to its own death."

The girl did not look up. Her advance proceeded unfaltering, even as pain gnawed deep into her muscles and tore at the inner skin of her lungs. She could not slow down, could never slow down, not when one missed step would earn her a beating or lose her a precious meal. In a way this was lucky for her: once she was grown there would be no such merciful punishments for her mistakes.

"I am yet alive, mother," she said, between one ragged breath and the next. The top of the hill seemed so distant, further away with every passing moment, and she knew countless more lay beyond it. She spoke for her own sake, to summon up strength where none remained. "The cold and the beasts could not end me, and not once have I ever faltered. When I fall, my journey will live on in hallowed tales, and in the scars I leave upon the world. They will weep for my passing; they will sing my name to the endless heavens."

She truly believed it, even after all this time. Wanted to believe, enough that it burned her inside.

Her only answer was a laugh like the cracking of ice. "And who will weep for you, daughter? Who will sing?" The giant's gaze was unrelenting, a pitiless light that glared through to her very soul. "There is no one left to follow you, and you have nowhere left to go. You live in the dark, broken and lost, and you are alone." That laughter again, echoing from everywhere at once. Svanhild's mother was gone, and in her place stood a black and bloodied spear, its tip stabbed through a maimed and blue-skinned head that cackled ceaselessly at the girl as a fresh wind stained the landscape red.

"You are alone!"

---

Awareness returned to her by degrees, a slow and grinding inevitability. Corrupt and fetid air, that lapped against her skin with a sickly warmth incomparable to the chill of her homeland. Voices, hateful voices, speaking a language foreign and foul. Even before she opened her eyes she could guess at the truth of her surroundings, and only with great reluctance did she finally pry her lids apart to greet the sorry sight that awaited.

The woman. Svanhild would not grace her with her title, though even calling her a living thing felt somehow wrong. Regent of this accursed pit, architect of perpetual despair, slave to the crown and enslaver of all who fell into this abyss: the giantess had every reason to want this creature dead, and now she stood no more than a stride or two before her. In that moment Svanhild wanted nothing more than to lunge forward and snap that monster in half, break her like a twig and dash her brains out across the hard stone floor. Only honed instincts stayed her hand, informing her that if she were to try, she would be dead before she made it a single step.

Instead she lifted her muscular arms, and folded them across her chest. Let her attention turn to some of the others in the chamber, without ever taking her eyes off her despised foe.

She hadn't met all of them before, but rumors had a way of traveling through the Maw, and she could identify most of these people by reputation alone. The savage ogre, a crass brute even taller than Svanhild herself, though she wagered the beast had barely half of her brains. A rotting corpse of a human, who had well earned his evocative nickname. A vile elven witch and a reckless pyromaniac, each seeking to outdo the other in the field of insanity. Not a one of them was worth more than the filth that lined their cells, but their collective presence told her much about the nature of this meeting. Dangerous prisoners, all potential flight risks... Only a fool would gather them together like this for a common execution.

No, this was something special. They were needed for something.

Svanhild did not waste her breath on pointless words. Unlike many in this room, she could exhibit actual patience, a quality she proved by waiting in silence without moving a millimeter further. Her gaze remained fixed upon her ghastly captor, an unflinching blue glare filled with all the bitter defiance of a monarch trapped in hell.

[Chrys]

Ruby

Falling, slipping through consciousness, her body was weighed down by the weight of what felt like heavy metal chains as she sank into the depths of the uncomfortable cold and dampness. Ruby's mind was filled with images of her sinking to the bottom of the ocean as her mind started to stir awake. Then there was that chilling voice, and her eyes abruptly burst open with glaring glowing red eyes.

You have woken.

Ruby's slumped over head quickly shot up and turned towards the woman she only knew as 'The Warden'. Though if she had to bet on it, she seemed no less a woman than she was human. Just looking at her seemed to be wrong, an icy chill filling her veins as she continued to stare at the being before her. Even as her instincts screamed for her to look away, she still glowered with her own unsettling crimson eyes.

She made no attempt to escape the bindings, physical or not; the fabric gag on her was frustrating, but she had not expected anything different. The only thing that seemed to be of interest was the softness of the cloth she wore. Finally tearing her stubborn glare away from the woman, she looked down to see the dark black dress with yellow embroidery. Even more surprisingly, there at her side, she could see her little pathetic excuse of a knife.

... What was going on?

This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all!

She was supposed to be dead by now. She was supposed to be gone. Gone from this world with one simple slice of a sword, or hidden in that dark filthy cell.

Patience, the Warden says, her voice like breaking glass. All in due time. They are waking.

Ruby's eyes swept through the room, finally taking in the shadowy figures as they, too, became restless and lashed out with insults and demands. Letting out a heavy sigh, she fell back to waiting as she contemplated that maybe being at the bottom of the ocean would have been more peaceful than whatever was planned for next.

[Thunder999999]

Viktor

Consciousness at last returns to Viktor, and with it confusion. The chains, his last real memory in who knows how long, are gone, yet he feels far from free, heavy limbs unwilling to move.

You have woken.
Patience, the Warden says, her voice like breaking glass. All in due time. They are waking.

Well that explains things, of course that horror needs no chains to bind him. Or rather them, it (and it's definitely an it in his mind, far too inhuman to be anything else) mentioned a they after all.
He strains to look at the shadowy figures, but only his eyes move, darting around their sockets.
But that is all he does, he vaguely hears some words from one of the shadows, but has no intention of wasting his breath here. Just stand and wait, they, whoever they are, are here for a reason and only time will reveal it.

[Lurking Shadow]

Omiku

Omiku watched and waited. Silently. Patiently. She was practically a model prisoner. She never caused a fuss, always did whatever was told. She had little reason to think she could get away with doing otherwise, and if nothing else perhaps she could wait it out, outlive this place. Is her behavior why they brought her here? With these others? They would never free her for good behavior, so they must have some sort of job for her. Her brows furrowed, hopefully it was not something in the sun. How she despised that accursed orb, nothing like the cool embrace of the void. Of darkness and shadows. At leas that was one small comfort to this place, it felt soothing to be surrounded by but the faintest trace of light. A benefit to being 'passive', as far as those that run this place thinks she is, they do not burn her with the light and allow her some leeway. Regardless, she could not do anything against them for now. They knew that, and she knew it too.

Omiku played with her food, offering but a fraction of her attention to this 'warden'. The blood pooled around her and danced on the floor, twisting and forming into familiar patterns before dispersing and being reabsorbed into her armor just to slowly seep out on the floor again. Finally she got bored of this and peered from the darkness into the dim light. Reaching out into the shadows dancing from the glow of illumination. There was much unknown to her, but some scant traces of information was revealed of the company she was in. She could bear to be with the lot of them... as far as she can tell, but that.... fool who plays with fire. She can smell it on him. Hear it in the whispers between shadows. Instinctively her lips curled as she bore her fangs silently. Fire is not fond of her, neither is she is fond of fire. It has a tendency to... stick to her. To choke out the darkness. Whatever was going on, she had no choice in the matter. But she had the choice to not like it.

[Red Wizard]

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In the Belly of the Beast

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The Warden remains in the center of the room, motionless. A few of you speak to her, but if she notices, she gives no sign. once you've all awakened, she stars to speak. Her voice cannot be properly described. It sounds like the ice cracking beneath your feet, like the blade rasping against your ribs, like your home burning in the night. Most of all, it sounds like something not of this world. You can understand the words, somehow, but you know deep down that they aren't uttered in any tongue you speak. Other than fear, perhaps.

To the near east lies the land of Sulfrey, the Warden says, a rich and powerful land, ruled by the God-King Ael-Gol who is a loved as he is feared. Sulfrey has long acted as the bulwark of the east, putting a stop to the raids and invasions of the barbarian hordes from beyond the edges of civilization. They have been very successful in this, and have because of it enjoyed a long and lasting peace with the Westerlands.

Images flash before your eyes; armies of knights with horned helmets, vast cities centered around pyramidesque temples, throngs of people cheering and raising their hands to the sky as a procession passes through the streets, a horned knight riding on a great winged lizard routing a horde of primitive barbarian warriors, and the lastly, an image of a tall and slender man in a beautiful golden mask. The man is both wonderful and terrible to behold; the sort of entity that would and could make you die for it. The face of the mask is locked in an eternal half-smile, and there are no slits for the eyes, but the hairs on your neck starts to stand up as you realize that he is looking at you, that he knows and waits, and that he smiles with anticipation.

The problem is, however, the Warden continues, that they have become too successful. Too powerful. The easterling hordes are all but spent at this point, humbled by the forces of Sulfrey. Many barbarians have taken up worship of this false god and are spreading the faith further still. It will not be long until its influence finds its way westward, and with it, armies of horned knights. The King has decreed that this cannot be allowed to continue. I have been tasked with solving the situation, and so, I am tasking you.

Suddenly, the Warden turns to face you. The very motion is unpleasant, as if she suddenly snaps from one position to the next with a strange resistance to the fluidity of the turn as if reality tries but fails to hold her in place. She doesn't approach you, but somehow it seems like she is getting closer. Her eyes - those bottomless pits of horrid darkness - stare right at you, into you, through you. When she contiues speaking, you notice that her lips aren't moving. The sound of her voice comes from within. She's in your mind!

Your mission is threefold, the Wardens voice whispers in your mind, There are advance agents already in place in Sulfrey. We have however not heard from them for over a month. Their last known place of residence is the Golden Chalice, a tavern in the city of Malasta. Your first mission is to make rendezvouz with the agents. They are three in total; Tristana, Yorleif and Nashur. Your second mission is to learn of their findings and plans, and enact them. If you suspect that any or all of them have been in any way compromized, you are to kill them. Your third and final mission is to infiltrate the court of the false God-King and slay Ael-Gol.

The visions flood your mind once more; three shadowy figures, one female and two male, her hair a telltale red, his face carrying a telltale scar; upset and uprisings in the streets, confusion and mass panic, a burning pyramid or temple; a splendorous hall devoid of life, except... He is there and the hairs on your neck starts to stand up as you realize that he is looking at you, that he knows and waits, and that he smiles with anticipation.

You are all enemies of the Kingdom, the Warden concludes, Monsters, villains, traitors... Blackguards, all. You have been chosen, because noone will believe you work for the King. You have been chosen, because noone will care if you die. Do your best, or do your worst - it matters not. Know only that you will do what I have said. That is all.

An eerie silence settles in the room, the moments stretching into seconds, or minutes, or hours. It is hard to tell. Then a rumbling begins - quiet at first, but deafening within moments. It is as if a mountain topples over, as if a river of rocks flows through the room. You can't think for the noise, can't speak. Then suddenly, something impossible occurs. The walls starts to move, folding and slithering and breaking apart. The room collapses in on itself, and it is all you can not to scream as your doom comes crashing down on you. The Warden remains motionless in the center of the room, but you could have sworn she was smiling.

---

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Out of the Ashes...

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Darkness.

You are awake.

You are alive.

You must break free.

Open your eyes.

Your eyelids snap open. The light blinds you, but your eyes soon adjust themselves. You are no longer in the Maw. You can feel the soft caress of the wind on your skin, feel the warmth of the sun on your face. You are in a field of tall grass. In the distance is a great forest, and beyond, high mountains. There is a river somewhere nearby; you can hear the water running. It is in the evening, just before dusk. The sun has not yet set, but is about to. Free. You are finally free. You do not understand why or how, or where, but there you are. You take a deep breath, savoring the scent of the grass and the clean crispness of the air.

Then you see them.

The Warden is nowhere to be found, but the others are. Monsters, creatures and other entities. Unknown factors. Certainly threats. Memory comes back to you; you are not free at all. Something impossible is demanded of you. Something that most likely will get you killed. And the only help you'll get are these villains, these... Blackguards. And you don't even know who, or what, they are.

Seems like you're going on an adventure. What a joy.

[MrSkimobile]

Brorin Foul

Brorin's voice stuck in his throat as the images and words flooded his mind. Sulfrey. Barbarians. The God-King sitting in his dead hall. That knowing smile. Red hair. A scar. Hordes of horned knights pouring over the kingdom. Blood. Then silence.

Then noise. The walls crumbling down. The world slipping away from him. Darkness closing in on him. Heart pounding, eye flitting, but nothing. Nothing but noise! And through the haze... That smile...

"Why do we keep him, father?" - "You will find out in the end, son." Echoes carry far in a church...
"I've got a treat for you, a right Foul task today." Those smiles...
"You still not dead yet?"
"You...? Why...?" Now it was his turn to smile...

Brorin's knees buckled as he fell into... Softness. A wheat field? He felt a cool breeze run through his eye socket. And there were birds! His heart calmed at a steady pace, only to flare up again as he noticed his mask had slipped. With trembling hands, he picked it up and put it back where it belonged, over his fair, unblemished half-face. You could dress up a monster, but why cover up the truth?

Grabbing his cane - his equipment all seemed to be there, alchemy satchel and all - he pushed himself up through what dizziness still lingered. Finally he could get a good look at these "chosen ones". There was a huge, brutish woman, not one to mince words that one, not even with the Warden, what few words she knew. A pale giantess surveying the scene with a stone-cold detachment, or was it dejection? An elf with a high and haughty posture, but hiding something in a sleeve of her dress. A ghostly girl, shy and red-eyed. A man who seemed too pridefully robed to have been a mere criminal, a psychopath, perhaps? A dark beast, its armor bloodied already. A lanky, silver-haired, ember-eyed man. And a halfling hidden in all their shadows. And then there was him... Blackguards, all.

What a joke. What a cruel joke. For a moment Brorin turned away, toying with the idea of leaving them in the dust of this soon-to-be destroyed land. Plagueborn were despised everywhere equally anyway, it wouldn't make much of a difference wherever he went. But he quickly remembered that he will do what She has said. That is all. He snickered, nodded, then he went silent. He truly wasn't getting out of this one, was he? They truly would have to kill a God-King, weren't they? And no one would truly lose a night of sleep for them if they died... would they? He muttered a verse from under his rasping breath. "Even the fools will find out they fit in the end, huh? Damned witch..."

Brorin turned back to the ones nearest to him. "Which way's east, friends?"

[Chrys]

Ruby

Images of a foreign land flashed through Ruby's mind, visions of strange warriors and odd temples bringing crinkles to her forehead. None of this made sense of why she was here; she was no kind of fighter.

Then the sight of the gold mask watching her rang through her mind like the sound of a broken bell, and a shudder ran through her small frame. Just the sight of this man caused goosebumps to run across her ghostly skin, and she had thought the warden had been bad.

Wait?! Tasking us?! As in... she was supposed to face ... that?

This was madness! This - this was..... this was suicide.

Pale hands fiddled with the knife at her side as everything was starting to set into her heavy chest.

All she had ever done was try to protect her sisters. Who cared if those assholes had died in a bloody mess, they had deserved it and now... now she was a disposable pawn going to be thrown at a being that hardly seemed human.

Then, as she finally seemed to finally accept that even if this wasn't the end she had expected, it was just leaving her a dead woman walking, a new fear raised its head. The screaming of the stones was deafening and despite herself, she could feel herself screech out as she felt the world crash down above her.

---

Bright, sanguine eyes shot open as Ruby tried to understand what was happening. She had never thought she had been scared of death; it had always just seemed such a silly thing to worry about, considering she technically had already died once. It seemed the world was just finding all new kinds of ways to make her second-guess this belief.

Blinking, she blindly took in the bright light, until finally her sight returned. The sweeping views of the fields of grass and mountains in the far-off created a gasp to escape from her lungs. Ruby had never seen such a sight before in her life, all she had done was live in the dark and dangerous cramped spaces of the red light district and now. Now, there was a whole new world right in front of her.

Just as fast as the beautiful sight and fresh smell reached her, she was reminded once again of her fate. Looking back at the other figures, she eyed them one by one before looking back to the mountains and taking a deep breath in. It seemed like the Warden had found a whole new way to torture her, with such a beautiful freedom so close, and yet she had her marching orders.

The question rode the cool air to reach her ears, and it was then that Ruby turned to look at the skeletal man with a questioning raised eyebrow. 'Friends'? She let out a small pfft and rolled her eyes, they were decidedly not friends. Unfortunate souls who had been played seemed like a much more accurate term.