It has been more than a fortnight in the dungeon, whether you have already lost track of time or whether you have been obsessively counting the days, hours, minutes. Whether you were waiting in line at a soup kitchen, being relocated for sleeping in an unauthorized area, or simply minding your own business, a contingent of city guards had happened to be around, with a mage, dowsing for corruption. And they had found you. With terror and duty in their eyes, with or without a fight, you were restrained and brought here.

And here you have stayed, in a cramped cell with a thin pile of rotting straw to sleep on and a shallow gutter with which to relieve yourself. You have been fed and watered, but only just. You have been under observation. Sometimes the same mage that arrested you, sometimes others, would come by and stare at you in veiled horror and curiosity. And scribble down notes. As the days progressed these observations became more frantic. Hurried whispers between mages expressing confusion, but the conclusion was clear, [i]nobody survived the curse this long.[/i] Until finally, you and three of your fellow prisoners were retrieved from your cells, one at a time, thoroughly shackled, and marched out of the dungeon, flanked by guards, confused and wary. For the more aware, it was obvious that you were in the Administrative Center of the City of Light as you passed through hallways, and high-roofed plazas, white and pristine, or at least as pristine as could be maintained, given the ongoing cataclysm outside the city's walls.

You eventually found yourself relocated to the Grand Temple of Light, a great circular chamber filled with the pious, or those feigning piety just for some reprieve from the conditions of the city streets. You were led upwards, to a chamber above the main prayer hall, a smaller room, but taller, a crescent-shaped table at the center, the opening of the crescent pointed towards you and the other prisoners, and into the jaws of this crescent table you were marched. Sitting at the table, spaced out evenly in six directions were what remained of civilized government, leaders chosen from their respective races, some perhaps too old to lead, some perhaps too young. Behind these leaders stood their retinues, comprised of councillors, advisors, and military personnel. Inside the crescent with you, besides the other prisoners, stood vigilant guards, just waiting for you or your peers to lash out in madness to attack the important members of this Council of Light. But behind the political retinues stood tall statues dedicated to the Six Gods of Light, each glowing with an otherworldly light in their respective divine color.

The human member of the Council stood up, a man in his fifties, with graying hair and beard. He had the physique of a military man, formerly captain of the city garrison, now leader of what remained of the known world. [color=a187be]"I am Lord Protector Bron Silversmith,"[/color] the man introduced himself, then gestured to the others seated at the table, [color=a187be]"Head of the Council of Light. First and foremost, we the Council would like to extend our most sincere apology for your stay in the dungeons. I believe you understand why you were imprisoned. This rule has kept us safe from madness and subterfuge. Ever since we've been able to detect the corrupting influence of the God's of Darkness, anyone found with this corruption is to be incarcerated and observed until the madness takes them and they are euthanized."[/color]

Then the leader of the Elves, a wizened old crone dressed in traditional spellcaster's garb, spoke up, [color=ed145b]"Every individual found with the corruption has so far been found mad, or is taken with madness within days of imprisonment. You have been brought before the council because you have survived a fortnight without succumbing fully to the madness. We do not know what this means, but our mages and clerics surmise that this is a sign. Perhaps as a people, we are becoming acclimated to the presence of the Dark Gods,"[/color] she chuckles sardonically, [color=ed145b]"though I do not want to imagine a world where that is true. Others say this is a sign that you have been chosen, but by whom, and for what purpose? Even the Gods of Light do not know!"[/color] The six statues seemed to glow softly in agreement, the presence of gods could be felt more clearly now in the room.

[color=39b54a]"We are taking a heavy risk by even bringing you into this chamber,"[/color] snapped the Harpy leader, a male in his prime and a man of the faith, [color=39b54a]"But we are desperate for some change to this slow death our city, nay, our very civilizations face. Here you see our greatest secret. We have re-established communion with the Gods and have presented your unique case to them."[/color]

"TELL US OF THESE SURVIVORS OF THE CURSE" Six impending voices sounded out through the minds of all in the room as the statues flashed brightly.

[color=39b54a]"Yes, my Lords!"[/color] The Harpy held his wings up in supplication, before addressing the warden, [color=39b54a]"Please, sir."[/color]

"Sir! This elf," the warden said, gesturing to Ahelair, "is Kind Ahel, known to many in the city for his altruism and healing skill. Without him, the slums would have descended into anarchy and disease. I...it was a shame we had to lock him up. This orc..."

[color=f7941d]"His markings show that he is a terror knight,"[/color] came the high-pitched voice of the boy orc leader, dressed up as a warlord, but whose fur-lined boots didn't even touch the ground. He looked back at his advisors, who nodded in approval that their leader had recognized the cultural markings.

"Yes, my lord. Lans has been on and off the Garrison, and proven himself on the battlefield many times, though he has demonstrated episodes of...uncontrollable violence. The Garrison captain can vouch for his bravery though, I'm sure. This one...the chicken, I do not know his name, but he's been caught on multiple occasions in possession of tomes and scrolls, and may be linked with the recent string of library robberies. He is considered mostly harmless. And finally, this one is a fishmonger, brought in after an altercation at the marketplace."

[color=fff200]"So, basically, nothing in common?"[/color] asked the Dwarf leader, a woman with all the trappings of a merchant and lawmaker, [color=fff200]"And hardly the stuff of legends."[/color]

[color=00aeef]"We have little choice in the matter, for the Gods have already decided,"[/color] came the Merfolk leader, a woman admiral, [color=00aeef]"But before we get into the details of the mission, I believe our guests have the right to speak their minds. After all, it may be the last sane conversation they have."[/color]

The room falls quiet as the council waits expectantly.