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[color=black]PILGRIMAGE OF A FORGOTTEN SOUL [/color]
[color=khaki]PILGRIMAGE OF A FORGOTTEN SOUL[/color]
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Braska finds herself following the crowd into a large patio overseen by a great castle, leering over all the bystanders that have followed their callings there. The wave of people that arrive seemed unending from her point of view; it reminded Braska of all the times she had gathered with the battalions she had fought with in the past, a ritual that preceded every battle she had joined. It made her heart clench, the thought that she was about to face another war…she was hopeful, however, that at least this might be her last.

When the number of people rose to what Braska guessed were in the double, if not triple hundreds, a booming voice that made itself heard equally to all, called everyone to attention. The man stood slightly above them all, with billowing black robes that fluttered around him when he moved. The symbol garnishing his chest was both awe and fear inspiring and Braska found herself pulling up the hood of her own robes, tugging at it nervously. 

Then, ten names were called and ten figures appeared; at their presence the crowd dissolved into furtive whispering. Each of the ten stood distinct from the others, yet, in some way, they stood together. Their presence was commanding and every inch of them demanded respect. When the man in black announced they would follow one of them, Braska’s eyes landed by chance on the sixth. Feelings tugged at her heart and soul and the girl lowered her eyes, thinking if she were to follow someone so reverential then maybe, just maybe, she could survive once more through the horrors of blood and gore and screams and death.

Despite her small prayers, she was left behind after all the names had been called. Reaching up, she tugged her hood even lower, face aimed down but her eyes were shining on the generals. One by one, they led their troops back inside and the doors of that grand castle were closed behind them.

[i]…ah…[/i]

Shoulders low, Braska looked around and found that, at least, she wasn’t left alone. Seven others stood at different points of the patio. A tall, iron clad man that looked reliable, he reminded her of an older brother; a petite blonde that stood in his shadow but with a strong enough presence that nobody could dismiss her; a youthful girl with a pinkish braid; a man that looked like he’d seen the very worst of the crusades; a mature woman that stood gracefully but somewhat cold to her surroundings; a priest that appeared to carry a gentle soul behind his kind eyes; and a mysterious girl in a bird’s mask.

There was not a lot of time for Braska to think about them as the man in black introduced yet another person to them. 

[color=khaki]“Virgil,”[/color] the name left her lips tentatively. She found him a bit more pleasant and approachable than their announcer. She follows him along with the others, when he beckons them all into a more secretive area; though her eyes betray her as she gazes one last time at the castle gates into which the generals had walked through with their teams. 

Braska was sure each of them stood in that smaller room for a reason, perhaps they’d done too good, perhaps too bad. Nevertheless, Virgil’s request destroyed the small bubble of hope that had earlier been born inside her heard. 

She knew the path down into the Abyss would be forged in blood; and now she knew whose blood it would be.

Two of her newfound party members had already voice their agreement, strong and brave; Braska merely tipped her head down, resigned to the fate the heavens had chosen to bestow upon her.