Origin Rites: Maelstrom - IC

[Kassaran]

chapter 1 - awaken

(apply through the ooc for access)

The room was cold, bitterly so and those with a body temperature that allowed for it would find that their breath quickly condensed into a fine vapor before them. There was a strange sound, like breathing, or distant howling that carried across the only doorway in the chamber and standing in it was a man. He was not significant for any reason other than the robes he wore, they were thin and threadbare, he espoused a state of poverty most never had likely seen before. He was an old human, older than perhaps any of the newly awoken denizens of the room had ever seen and even as they roused themselves from their sleep, they would realize he carried himself differently than others of his kind. He had no bow to his back, no crook to his stance. He was lithe, lean, appearing more of a coiled snake than anything else. What was most unsettling they would quickly find, was his gaze. It carried on past any and all of them and into the wall past and beyond. He did not refocus his gaze, but rather continued to stare emptily forward, his eyes covered in a thin haze of fog and mist.

As each member of the group of newly awoken would find, they no longer wore their original clothes where applicable, but rather only a tunic and footwraps. On some, visible markings were slowly fading and the smell of burning flesh faintly tinged the air, before being once again overpowered by the molded interior of the ruin. In the corner of the room would be several sacks, tied at the mouth and pressed against one another. About the chamber, in small alcoves, flickered small candles the size of a human finger and surrounded by small trinkets. Small rivulets of water run in streams down cracks in the stonework walls and the world seems strangely muted, only coming into focus as each person leaves their individual bed of stone. The floor is cold, slick with mold and algae from the moisture and in some places there are pools where the water gathers in times of excess flooding. This appears to be one such time as the shining reflections of the star-like candles shines upon them from various angles.

The old man straightens a little more, then turns and looks over the room as the first few begin to approach him. He does not smile, does not say anything, but only waits to see what is done.

[Anitgrum]

Azov felt an itching sensation on his back he swung back both of his arms to scratch the itch but was out of his reach. He turned his attention to the room he was in. It was cold candle lit room with water running down the stone walls forming pools in some places. The room had apparently been flooded before because the floor was covered in algae. It the corners of the room there were several sacks. There appears to be more people in the room other than Azov. The are hard to make out in the poorly lit room except the man standing in the doorway. He is an thin bearded old man with an thinning hair line. He is wearing ragged robes. He appears to stare past Azov and the others. Azov walks forward toward the old man and says.

"Where am I and who are you?" As Azov tries to remember the battle he was in but all could remember was a massive fire sweeping across the blackened earth.

[Zjaum]

Pokalle rubbed his legs thoroughly. He only knew how to cure the "it's been a long day of walking and I need rest" kind of ache, not the "ah what is this it's an itch I can never scratch" kind, so he had a difficult time adjusting to the correct patterns. Still, through hard work and testing things out, the itch went away.
He looked around. It sure beat being drenched, but the general milieu of the place (not to mention the big hulking mound of rocks) began to tell him that he wasn't quite in his neck of the woods. In fact, since he had never seen a stone creature quite like that before, and since apparently the it hadn't seen a flesh creature like him, he was likely too far removed from his neck to warrant its reference, let alone retrieve its bounties. Looks as if the factory will have to go on without its guidance for a spell.
"My name is Pokalle. I'm a merchant by trade who deals in small handheld trinkets. Well, considering your hands, that's likely not a good reference. The stuff I make is probably-" The goblin held up his hands to measure somewhere between four inches and a decimeter. "This large."
It was at that moment when the merchant realized that the rock monster wasn't talking to him. Fair enough; he was itching his legs when the rock asked the question. From that perspective, it could have been asking about anyone. Regardless: "Say, does anyone have any information as to the nature of this room?"

[Audunia]

"Gah!" Tralios gasped as a burning pain stabbed through his chest, his hand instinctively going to his chest and pressing down, hoping to suppress whatever bleeding would come from such a wound, however his hand remained dry and his chest felt firm as it ever was, even after a hesitant taps around to see if he found the right spot. He rose slowly from his position, wincing from a short sting of pain. The smell of burnt flesh made him retch when he realised that it had rose from him, glancing down gone was whatever he had worn before, instead they were replaced with garments that could hardly be considered clothes, instead they had more in common with a rotten burlap sack than anything else.

His head, though groggy, begins to clear as his memory returns to him, though the benefit of that is minimal, his only recollection being that he was once in the middle of a storm with a group of other men, and now that storm was gone and the group of men replaced by beings that were certainly not men. He bolted to his feet at the realisation and his hand shot down to where his sword was, though it grasped thin air. A cold realisation soon crept over him, he was no longer where he belonged and, more importantly, he was unarmed. The sound of stones grinding together tore him from his spiralling thoughts back to the present, looking around the room, letting his sight attune to it, what he saw confused him more. It was dilapidated at best, and a ruin at worst, the walls flickered with candlelight, casting shadows that played with his mind across the room.

"Where am I and who are you" a voice asked, though to him it sounded more like stones being crushed together than words. He followed where the sound had come from and the voice certainly matched its owner, who's stone body glowed with a burning light too intense to exist on the surface of the world, he'd only seen such colours from the depths of his world. His concern wasn't helped by the fact the stone creature looked like a tough beast to slay. How he wished he had his sword on him now. He went to reply before a second, slightly shriller, voice emerged from the darkness. To him, it spoke much too fast for him to keep up, its gesturing being going faster than he could think, while it idly itching threw him through even more confused loops.

"What?" was all Tralios could manage, his voice tinged with a composed confusion. His years as a Guardian had taught him that appearing confident and composed was enough to throw an attacker off his game. He hoped that these beings also played by the same rules.

[Stahlarev]

Johann jolted awake. The last thing he remembered was the searing pain from the ... possibly teleportation magic...? He thought it was teleportation magic. He'd seen inklings in ancient texts about ancient magics and technologies that could do some sort of teleportation. But there weren't any magic circles, no obvious devices, no hints or tracks that led him here. Besides, the Vaults were full of danger. Why would it bother teleporting him to an unknown location instead of dropping a rock on him? That would have been much more efficient, and Johann loved efficiency. But he stopped thinking about it. His forte is in the flesh, not the runes and stones.

Lost in thought, Johann pondered and pondered, not even noticing his surroundings until he snapped to the realization. He first laid his eyes on the ones making a bit of a commotion. More people, he thought. Very efficient to stick together. He hoped everyone was on the same side and this wasn't a sadistic murder game where everyone was expected to kill each other. He's a scholar first, so he's sure he wouldn't last long in that situation.

The first that caught his attention was the massive rock monster. Hmm. Interesting specimen. He'll need an adamantium scalpel for that. The second was the small green creature. Now Johann wasn't very big, but he didn't expect a creature that small to be intelligent, yet he showed signs of quite advanced sapience, being able to talk properly and demonstrate that he could craft items. Another interesting specimen. He then analyzed Tralios. Johann knew what he was, at least. A human. Okay, so at least there's someone whose biology he knows.

Johann looked at his surroundings. The chill was biting him, as he had no proper clothing- "wait..." he thought, realizing that his clothes and masterwork surgical tools were gone! His notebook, also gone! No! His prized possession, his life's work! His clothes! Why was he wearing peasant, no, slave clothes?!

Then finally, he saw Damocles. Hmm. Staring into the distance in a mysterious ruin, check. Ominous stillness, check. Old, possibly ancient body, check. Johann knew this man was dangerous, so he decided to hold off on that. Johann went to the small gathering and heard Pokalle ask about the nature of the room.

"As much as I'd hate to admit I don't know something, I don't know anything about this room. You're not a creature that's native to my home world. What worlds are you three from?"

A multitude of follow-up questions flooded Johann's thoughts. There are other worlds? Where are we? What do they want? Is there magic in your world? So many questions, but he knows he doesn't have the time to ask them everything. Sticking together and understanding the situation takes priority, and he knows the other 'awakened' folk are just as clueless as he is.

[Daves Computer]

The searing pain that surged through the genasi's head was unlike any sensation he had felt. He rose from the stone slab with a jolt and a whispered string of expletives. The pounding in his head only numbed somewhat and his vision cleared somewhat as he gained an awareness for his surroundings.

"What in the nine Hells..." he whispered weakly, his voice becoming a misty vapor in the such frigid conditions. He wrapped the threadbare, sodden rags that hung on his thin frame tightly as his teeth began to chatter. He began to observe the murky chamber from his stone slab, noticing first the distinct smell of burning flesh from his forehead and the single bead of blood that slowly dripped from it, then the elder man staring not at him but through him, and finally several others who seemed to share in his confusion and dread.

His immediate thought was how he came here or perhaps why. He tried to recall what brought him to these circumstances, but his mind goes blank. Nothing. He could recall nothing. Not why he was there, nor why he wore those clothes, nor why there was what felt like a branding on his head, nor even, quite simply, where he came from or who he was. His blue complexion turned ghostly white, fear surging through him. "This must be a dream," he said in a desperate attempt to console himself, holding and lightly shaking his head with his hands as though to rattle free the memories and identity stuck in some far recess of his mind.

In a panic, he hops off the stone slab to approach the man at the end of the chamber and demand answers. But he holds his tongue; it seems others are asking the same thing. It brings him some relief to know that he isn't alone in this conundrum, but not much.

[Ossric]

Having scanned the room quickly to try and gain his bearings Tyric fought down his initial sense of panic and slowly made his way to his feet. Ignoring the itch on his back to the best of his abilities he moves to join the others that seem to have been transported here as suddenly as himself if the confused looks and snippets of conversation he catches are anything to go on. Noticing his distinct lack of armor or blade, which he knew to be with him prior to this Tyric's head immediately began to flood with worrying thoughts about his situation. He was not particularly knowledgeable of magic in his home, his elder sisters having been far more educated in it's uses, what he did know was that nothing in his home was capable of suddenly transporting someone like whatever this had done.

Adding on to the oddities of his new setting was the oddities of his apparent fellows. A man made of stone, a small green man, and several men of odd skin tones lacking horns. Perhaps this world was an in-between for the dead of different realms. Some of the sermons he remembered hearing as a child spoke about a sort of judgment before passing on. The odd old man in the doorway must therefore be the judge. He seemed to give the aura of an ageless figure.

Taking in his surroundings once again Tyric sighed. "I had hoped death to be slightly less cliché in it's dreariness. All the paintings and stories got this place spot on. Cold, quiet, dark. I probably shouldn't be surprised, though I don wonder how exactly I passed on?"

[Lazarian]

Hearing the faint drip of water in the distance and feeling the frigid cold set upon his skin, Clive twitched his nose in irritation.

Mornings were never pleasant, but this one seemed to be worse than most. He didn't remember how he had gotten to bed, or what had led him here, but it wasn't as if that had never happened before. His arms burned like hell, for whatever reason. The gang's hideout could get cold, at times, but never this cold. What the devil was going on? Had he had too much to drink? The world seemed all out of sorts - his hearing was out of focus, and even the sense of the cold on his body was faint and vague. Scowling, eyes still pinched bitterly shut, he rolled off the stone bed, ready to find and chastise Davies for letting the fire...

The stone bed? Hold up.

His eyes shot open. He was standing in the midst of a small puddle in front of a stone table, in what appeared to be a frigid cave. There were small candles flickering in the room, illuminating a ghostly old man and several hideous beings. Instantly, his hand flicked down to his side, to his trusty pistol...coming up with nothing.

This wasn't the hideout. Looking down in the reflection, he noticed a couple things. First things first, he wasn't in his normal clothes. No coat, no belt, no britches. Just this measly shirt-lookin' thing and some wet footwraps. Second, his arms had been absolutely scarred up - strange sigils burnt into them, circled around his wrists and forearms. The designs were far too deliberate to be a simple burn. They weren't tattoos, either. No - he'd been branded. Hurt like hell. Thirdly, as he gazed at the stars visible through the crack, seeing the North Star...he realized that the three stars of Dridan's Belt were nowhere to be seen.

Hell, this wasn't even Tellus.

What the hell? Where had all of...all of...all of...

Clive put his hands to his head, attempting to focus. He was searching for a name that was no longer there. He knew their names. Rogers, Davies, Reynauld - the motley group of men whom he had spent the last decade with were fresh in his mind. But the name of the group...what the hell? Silently, he took a seat near the stone, watching the figures in the room with keen eyes. Figure out the facts first, then act.

The first being that spoke appeared to be a pile of rocks in the shape of a man. It approached the old man at the entrance, asking a question. It had a deep, rumbling voice. Clive couldn't quite make out much of what it was saying. He'd never seen a living pile of rocks, but he'd heard that Sunstones could achieve some truly miraculous things. A man made from Sunstone? Ha! Unlikely, but the only plausible explanation for this creature.

Whatever it was, its question was quickly answered by a second figure. This one, unlike the first, was small. A little creature - perhaps a boy - but no, its voice was like that of an old man. A shimmer of moonlight illuminated it slightly, revealing a shade of...green? And what in the devil was that nose? Putting a hand to his ear, Clive listened intently, hearing snippets of what it said. Handheld trinkets, another question - appeared that these fellows...creatures...whatever they were, they were as confused as him.

There was another man here. Older fella', probably mid-forties if Clive had to guess. He seemed confused as well, merely stating "What?" in response to the previous two, the words echoing throughout the cave. At least that was most definitely a regular man. Guess he hadn't been abducted by the circus after all.

Another figure walked over towards the standing stones, the green creature, and the elderly man. Illuminated in the faint light, Clive gritted his teeth in disgust at that...thing. It had four arms, wings, and the hideous compound eyes of a fly. Yet it walked, more or less, like a man. Disgusting. Every gut instinct he had said to squash that thing under his boot like the oversized roachworm it was.

"As much as I'd hate to admit I don't know something, I don't know anything about this room. You're not a creature that's native to my home world. What worlds are you three from?"

The critter spoke the King's Tellan though, oddly enough. It made his blood run cold.

Shuddering slightly, Clive reached reflexively for a knife that was no longer there. There was another fellow who stood up - mostly human, though with blue skin. The words of the dreadful moth monster, combined with these odd men...well, there was only one good conclusion to come to. Clive stood, shivering, and walked towards the others and the old man. If this was the afterlife, there was no harm or foul in introducing himself. They were probably just in the waiting room for the Ferryman. Shit, the old man probably WAS the Ferryman.

It was a creature that looked damn near to be Devil himself that locked in Clive's suspicions. A dark man with horns and red eyes, he chimed into the conversation right as Clive walked up towards the others.

"I had hoped death to be slightly less cliché in it's dreariness. All the paintings and stories got this place spot on. Cold, quiet, dark. I probably shouldn't be surprised, though I do wonder how exactly I passed on?"

Clive chuckled slightly at the fellow's sentiment.

"Don't we all. And in case you odd fellows were wondering what happened to us all, I'm with the Devil here." he said in a distinct Cockney accent as he entered the small circle that had formed near the old man. Extending out one of his seared arms, he shook Tyric's hand firmly.

"We're all fuckin' dead, is what's goin' on here." he claimed boldly, putting on a brave face. "It's cold, it's damp, and I bet not a single one of you chaps remember how you got here either. I'm guessing that our bodies are most likely rotting in the gutters right now."

His insides twisted up at the idea. He sure as hell didn't feel dead. Sure as hell didn't know how or why he was dead. And he sure as hell wasn't ready to be dead. Glaring at the pitiful old man, he crossed his arms.

"He's here to take us all down to the Pits, assuming you lot are comin' along to my stop." he joked dryly, though this gallows humor would likely not land well.

[Ossric]

Tyric chuckled faintly as he shook the man's hand. The two of them had similar thoughts on their current status it seemed. Though he did raise an eyebrow at the term the man used to describe him. A devil? For Tyric such a being was a tentacled monstrosity. A curiosity that his people resembled this man's idea of a devil. Something best pondered at a different time.

"He's here to take us all down to the Pits, assuming you lot are comin' along to my stop." The welcoming man joked causing Tyric's own lips to quirk upward in a grin.

"To be honest I would have preferred the winged maidens my mother used to say would retrieve warriors to an old man. I have to wander if I took a wrong turn somewhere to wind up on the...er, darker road." The young warrior was actually rather disappointed that the storied beautiful maidens weren't there to carry him up to the gates of paradise. He definitely wanted to know what he did to annoy the gods and earn this end.

"The name is Tyric Vorgund by the way, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Likely the last pleasure I'll have if I am reading this setting correctly." He introduced himself as he released the handshake of the man.

[Kassaran]

Moonlit beams fell upon the old man as he moved slightly forward and towards the golem. There was a smoothness in his movements, a peculiar unearthly glide that carried him forward and as his robe parted to reveal his legs, it became obvious that the old man was not fully human. Cloven hooves clacked noisily on the stonework as the being seemed to slowly gain height and cleared its throat with a phlegm-filled cough. It rose a single hand and spoke softly, almost inaudible against the howl of the winds which slowly wound their ways through the dark threshold beyond. Clouded eyes immediately cleared and the man fixed each individual present with a hard stare.

"You- all of you- are not dead. Though soon that may be so."

His voice was ancient, breathy, as if having screamed his voice hoarse over a lifetime of arduous trial and error.

""I, am Master Damocles, last of my brothers and sisters who awoke in this room over a century ago. You all are the first of many whom will awaken and take on the duties of your forebears. Of my friends who no longer walk this world."

He slowly moved his head in a level sweep back across the group, resting his eyes on the golem which seemed to flicker with a brightness which put the meager candles within the chamber to shame.

"You are in an ancient ruin called, The Source. The Source of what is unknown, but this should not be your first concern. As to who I am, I am your first light in this world and the one who can send you on your way- though I cannot depart with you."

Damocles' face turned to regard the next figure in line, the goblinoid whom bore a seal upon its legs.

"While you may have cast magics and sorcery in the world you came from, I regret to inform you that it is all for naught here. As all of you will soon learn, Mordurn is not kind to those who try to hold on to their past lives. Some of you may already be forgetting things, little things, things that you didn't know you knew, until suddenly you realize you no longer know them. Memory is a currency of sorts in Mordurn, as is your life, as is your death. Understand this well, for we did not when my wave awoke."

He looked up and towards the ceiling of the chamber, the high cracked and shattered dome allowing streams of moonlight to fall through from high above and illuminate Damocles' more fully, only to also illuminate through him as well. He grimaced, a thin line drawn across his face, a mixture of sadness and concern. He looked back towards the goblinoid.

"This room is the Waking Hall, you'd all do best to remember this place, to carry out your duties should you all fail. You will return here, to greet the newly awakened, as I have done for you, and in their awakening achieve final peace as I will shortly."

The old sage shifted his head and looked at the mothman, his eyes looked firmly into Johann's in spite of their compound nature. This had not been the man's first time dealing with an insectoid of any brand.

"Where they are from, they will forget soon if they cannot remember already, it was what left me first when I awoke."

His head shifted again, the long, wispy beard catching the moonlight and reflecting the soft twinkling oranges of the faint candles present along the walls of the corridor. The others had not asked any further questions, and as such the man had no further answers to give. He took a gentle breath, and then exhaled before speaking again," As for what you all are, Revenant is a word used by some, but Champion is the title used by most. You are here to fight, and serve, and one day die protecting this world as mine did for a hundred years before you and their forebears a century before them. What you will fight has no name, but is only an idea of evil called the Corruption."

He turned and began to walk out of the room, gliding slowly with long and deliberate steps that echoed with each hoof-strike against the barren stone floor... and continued to echo long into the distant dark.

"This world, Mordurn, is unforgiving and will kill many of you. Some have already awoken and left this place, while others have yet to awaken. Understand that there are many in this world who care not for your mission and will only seek to survive and profit from your deaths. They must be killed. There is no other way. Trust me, for I lost sisters and brothers who failed to do so and paid the final price."

As they continued on down the hall, the cracks in the high ceiling disappeared, with the sound of falling water coming and going. There was a slight downward cant to the walkways as the long corridor led only deeper into the bowels of the ruined structure they now walked through.

[Stahlarev]

Clive gritted his teeth in disgust at that...thing.

Johann looked back at Clive. As someone who spends most of his days poring over books, artefacts, and suspicious organs in jars of formaldehyde, he didn't get the social cue of "oh Gods I want to crush that disgusting thing under my boots like the insect it is." emerging from the human, so he just awkwardly looked away and back to the conversation at hand.

"You- all of you- are not dead. Though soon that may be so."

"My, my. Have some faith. I can spot some formidable warriors within our ranks. Perhaps it is true that this 'Source' chose us at random, but everyone here seems to be able to contribute. Well, not so much me, at least until I get some tools." Johann replied.

Some of you may already be forgetting things, little things, things that you didn't know you knew, until suddenly you realize you no longer know them.

This. Now this is a cause for concern. Being sent to another world to act as a champion? Manageable. High risk of death? Acceptable. Losing his precious notebook and tools, AND running the risk of forgetting all his research? That's just cruel. Still, Johann kept quiet and followed the crowd, looking at each and every one of them and analyzing what he could deduce are their strengths and weaknesses.

Azov's was obvious. He was a walking mountain. Definitely strong and tough, but perhaps weaker in the magical defenses?

Pokalle was an interesting sort, but garnered little reaction from Johann strength-wise. He seemed to be some sort of fast one, but it remains to be seen how well he can use his speed... or even his hidden talent.

Trailos looked like a mighty warrior indeed. He definitely could fight well. He seems very conventional, perhaps a sword and shield user? Johann slowly started to realize that everyone has some sort of special power. He saw those weird brands on their bodies. It must not be a coincidence everyone had one.

Johann touched the seal on his forehead using one of his three-fingered hands and traced the line. He didn't feel anything when he got it, but he attributed that to not having any nerves on his exoskeleton.

Faye doesn't look like a warrior, but from his analysis he could be an excellent caster. Damn it, there's not enough information!

Tyric looked like another sword and shield user. He seemed pretty conventional, so Johann deduced that he's going to be a powerhouse in direct combat similar to Trailos.

From his hairstyle, scars, and the way he carried himself, Johann could see that Clive was some sort of cutthroat. Johann would have to be careful around this one. The fact that he was staring at him earlier didn't help. He didn't want any problems with any of the people he was with. They all look like they could bash his face in with their bare hands. Dangerous. Need to play safe. Hopefully they don't hate science.

This world, Mordurn, is unforgiving and will kill many of you.

"Ah, just like the Vaults. If there's plenty of strife, there must be plenty of chances to do some science. This is good news for me."

Johann was a little excited to step out and see the world for himself. What creatures would he meet? will there be more like-minded individuals? Would the laws of alchemy work differently in another world? Exhilarating stuff.

First objective, food and water. Second, a quill and blank notebook. And third, some alchemist's tools.

[Lazarian]

"To be honest I would have preferred the winged maidens my mother used to say would retrieve warriors to an old man. I have to wander if I took a wrong turn somewhere to wind up on the...er, darker road." The young warrior was actually rather disappointed that the storied beautiful maidens weren't there to carry him up to the gates of paradise. He definitely wanted to know what he did to annoy the gods and earn this end.

"The name is Tyric Vorgund by the way, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Likely the last pleasure I'll have if I am reading this setting correctly." He introduced himself as he released the handshake of the man.

"It's Clive. Winged maidens? Never heard of that one. I'll cross my fingers for us both that we get lucky, eh?" he replied casually, looking over the horned fellow. All things considered, Clive liked the chap. Seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, judging by his reaction to all of these events.

Suddenly, the old man stirred. He was no human either, apparently, judging by the clacking of hooves on the stone floor. It seemed as if the fellow barely had any life in him, but...he spoke nonetheless.

"You- all of you- are not dead. Though soon that may be so."

Clive listened intently, taking every single word in carefully. Not dead, huh? Then what the hell was this? There was no place on Tellus like this - no creatures and devils resided on that frozen realm. As far as he knew, anyways. And...soon that may be so, eh? He'd see about that one. The moth insect man thing interjected, in a surprisingly posh tone of voice. The juxtaposition of its horrid appearance with its almost scholarly demeanor was quite unsettling.

"My, my. Have some faith. I can spot some formidable warriors within our ranks. Perhaps it is true that this 'Source' chose us at random, but everyone here seems to be able to contribute. Well, not so much me, at least until I get some tools." Johann replied.

In his mind, Clive took down a bit of a note. The moth man wasn't a fighter, to the bandit's great surprise. Or, at the very least, those wings and extra arms didn't allow for greater hand-to-hand skill. Overall combat depended on what tools the moth was talking about. Back at home, ol' Johnny Clarke was a righteous shot with a pistol, despite his feeble body. Perhaps the moth man was the same way. As Clive thought this, he realized that it was hard for him to remember Johnny's face. Despite the two literally being bunkmates.

"I am Master Damocles, last of my brothers and sisters who awoke in this room over a century ago. You all are the first of many whom will awaken and take on the duties of your forebears. Of my friends who no longer walk this world." the old man continued, moving his head in a level sweep back across the group, resting his eyes on the golem which seemed to flicker with a brightness which put the meager candles within the chamber to shame.

"You are in an ancient ruin called, The Source. The Source of what is unknown, but this should not be your first concern. As to who I am, I am your first light in this world and the one who can send you on your way- though I cannot depart with you. While you may have cast magics and sorcery in the world you came from, I regret to inform you that it is all for naught here. As all of you will soon learn, Mordurn is not kind to those who try to hold on to their past lives. Some of you may already be forgetting things, little things, things that you didn't know you knew, until suddenly you realize you no longer know them. Memory is a currency of sorts in Mordurn, as is your life, as is your death. Understand this well, for we did not when my wave awoke."

Clive's eyes lit up and narrowed as Damocles talked about forgetting things. Little things, like the name of his band, and the faces of his friends. What else had he forgotten? Things that he didn't knew he knew? Had he had a family back in Tellus? A lover? Shit, he wouldn't eve know, would he? His breath quickened, his nerves getting to him despite many years of experience working against them. And life and death being currency...an odd sentiment. Was Damocles talking about assassinations? Or slavery? Because people would pay plenty for a quick throat slitting back in Tellus, and a few unlucky bastards found themselves chained up to mine the depths for sunstone. Perhaps here was more of the same. But memory as a currency...was something new entirely. Did that mean he could purchase his memories back?

Or...sell the few he had remaining?

"This room is the Waking Hall, you'd all do best to remember this place, to carry out your duties should you all fail. You will return here, to greet the newly awakened, as I have done for you, and in their awakening achieve final peace as I will shortly."

The old sage shifted his head and looked at the mothman.

"Where they are from, they will forget soon if they cannot remember already, it was what left me first when I awoke."

Clive hadn't forgotten quite yet. "City of Whitecliff, country of Dunwall, realm of Tellus." he repeated in his mind a couple times. He had no damn intentions of forgetting where he'd come from. Although...truthfully, did it really matter? The more Damocles spoke, the less likely it seemed that Clive would ever be able to return. Perhaps they weren't dead, but for all intents and purposes, they may have been.

Well, no matter what, survival came first. Even if he forgot where he from, who and what he was wouldn't depart. He was a scrapper and a fighter. No matter what he lost, there was always something else to live for. And if he ended up dead in the gutter, he couldn't find it. Mankind's deepest instinct was to survive, and he wasn't about to not listen to his guts tellin' him what to do.

Damocles continued. "As for what you all are, Revenant is a word used by some, but Champion is the title thused by most. You are here to fight, and serve, and one day die protecting this world as mine did for a hundred years before you and their forebears a century before them. What you will fight has no name, but is only an idea of evil called the Corruption."

Clive cracked a slight grin, despite the circumstances. A hundred years? He'd be long dead before achieving the "final peace" that the ancient goat-legged man spoke of. Humans only lived, what, seventy years, innit? And he was nearly halfway there. And they were Revenants now, ey? Ghosts of the past? Yeah, he may as well have been dead. This may as well be a second life. Some madmen roaming the wastes and ruins of Greysfield spoke of reincarnation, but the Six Strictures and the Church of the Sun taught otherwise. Guess all those Kings and Priests were wrong and the nutters were right. Ironic. But Clive had never taken much stock in what those fat priests had to say anyways.

"This world, Mordurn, is unforgiving and will kill many of you. Some have already awoken and left this place, while others have yet to awaken. Understand that there are many in this world who care not for your mission and will only seek to survive and profit from your deaths. They must be killed. There is no other way. Trust me, for I lost sisters and brothers who failed to do so and paid the final price."

A mission, eh? Clive raised an eyebrow. Who said that he was in on this mission? Just because the Source had brought him here to fight against some mythical evil or whatever...didn't necessarily mean he had to do it. Mordun, or whatever this new plane may be, seemed to be a world like any other. Tellus was an unforgiving world too. Plenty of cold, hunger, and blood. Didn't mean that Clive couldn't hack out a decent existence here either.

Suddenly, the bug-man chimed in once again.

"Ah, just like the Vaults. If there's plenty of strife, there must be plenty of chances to do some science. This is good news for me."

Caught completely off guard by this, Clive laughed. It was a harsh, guttural laugh, but not altogether unfriendly. A couple of useful tidbits of information there, though. The bug man was from a dangerous place as well, and his 'science' involved strife. Perhaps he was a mechanic or weaponsmith.

"Science? Bug fella', you're transported to another world and you want to do...science? I admire your dedication, but what kind of science are you planning on doing in the middle of a scrap?" he said to the hideous creature, though doing his best to mask his distaste.

The thing didn't seem altogether unfriendly, and it was on the journey with him, so he might as well try and get along. Never hurt to get on the good side of your potential travel companions. Besides, Clive was probably just as vile to the insect man, with all his squishy bits and only two eyes, eh?

[Audunia]

The assortment of beings that Tralios awoke with seemed bizarre beyond measure, more belonging in fairy tales than in reality. A creature who resembled an insect more than he resembled a man. Tralios had thought the second being deceased at first, its ice blue skin fooled him into thinking the poor thing had frozen to death, he felt a wave of revulsion come over him when it began to move, revealing it to be alive. He possessed little time to be shocked when, out came a horned man. Something in the back of Tralios' mind screamed for him to be cautious of the creature, but no matter how hard he tried, the memories refused to come back to him as to why he should be cautious.

"I had hoped death to be slightly less cliché in it's dreariness. All the paintings and stories got this place spot on. Cold, quiet, dark. I probably shouldn't be surprised, though I don wonder how exactly I passed on?" it said, clearly talking out loud, though the fact it spoke the same language caught him off guard, he was getting really sick of being surprised.

Another voice joined in on their confusion, this time it's owner looking far more like him, though certainly younger, still with colour in his hair, though he doubted he'd have the spring in his step. His thoughts were confirmed when the man spoke, his words so filled with pessimism that Tralios doubted the man even knew what optimism was.

Shortly after, the old man started to speak, how Tralios hadn't noticed him was beyong him, though more important things had been on his mind, such as a giant rock monster. The more he talked caused Tralios to grit his teeth, matters of being forced from his world to fight for this one? It outraged him, Tralios would have done something if he hadn't felt his voice robbed from him. The way the old man walked unsettled him as well, more of a gentle glide than anything else, but the unmistakable click of hoofs put him on edge. Tralios had no intention of finding out what hid under that long robe. The mention of forgetting his past infuriated him further, he refused to forget his past, it built who he was, the many lessons shaping him into who he was. His hand instinctively rose to his chest to feel his wine-filled vial, but he found it gone, he hand clenching the air as he fought to contain himself.

He was silent for a few moments as the old man disappeared down the dark hallway, silently fighting the urge to not cry out in anger, but then the eager voice of the mothman intrigued him. Vaults? Sounded like he came from an interesting world, though the gruffer man beat him to reply.

[i}"Science? Bug fella', you're transported to another world and you want to do...science? I admire your dedication, but what kind of science are you planning on doing in the middle of a scrap?[/i] he spoke, though Tralios could sense he was trying to mask some emotion, he hoped the bugman was unfamiliar with human emotions to detect it.

"Forgive me, the term science is new to me, but I imagine it may come in handy, not necessarily in the form of fighting, but in healing and medicine. I can't imagine all the ills of this world require murder, perhaps some call for a gentler hand." Tralios interjected, trying to frame his naturally deep and authoritative voice with a friendly tone, lest his come off as someone he wasn't "Speaking of this world, how do they expect us to help when we're clothed in simple rags?"

[Ossric]

Tyric found himself frowning slightly as the old man explained their situation. Between being forcefully transported against their will to an entirely different world, losing their memories, and evidently their freedom he was rather displeased with his situation. Then again he was also curious about the world outside. He felt the waning connection to his own and while a part of him tried desperately to hold on to the memories some that he still possessed made him think that his new situation wasn't entirely unwelcome. Better than to keep fighting the unwinnable war back home for his sister, or was it mother. He already couldn't place a name to the face and had forgotten the name of his homeland. Again it was less worrisome than he expected such a thing to be. Probably due to the vibrant memories of dying friends that he could still pull forward.

"Well all things considered I suppose it's better than being dead." Tyric voiced quietly before grinning to his new acquaintance Clive. "It's good to have a like minded comrade if we are going to be fighting some monsters called anything as ominous as the Corruption. I can't help but say I look forward to getting settled in this new place. Surely it can't all be as dreary as this Source is. Either way perhaps there is something worth fighting for out there if people like the old man have been fighting for a century for it. I doubt they continued on without some sort of glory or profit right?"

Tyric was cautious towards the less humanoid members of their group at the moment as he followed his new companions out of the chamber. The insectoid man seemed alright in personality, however he would take much getting used too and Tyric hoped that the man would be capable once they set out on this mission. The stone man undoubtedly would be a strong ally, being as Tyric cringed at the idea of trying to battle the being himself. How exactly to kill a rock he didn't know so it was definitely best to be on his side. The one called Clive was a clear veteran of conflict of some type and he seemed to carry himself with the confidence of one used to having to rely on quick thinking and ingenuity to survive, another one to be happy he was to be allied with. The small green man hopefully processed other skill sets to make up for his stature. Tyric would assume that having been brought along with them perhaps he was skilled in more dexterous abilities, like thievery or assassination, both which would be helpful against whatever creatures lurked beyond this place. The elderly looking man seemed a veteran of plenty of fights as well a strong physical appearance hopefully the man would be willing to speak with himself about better strategies if they used similar skills in battle.

"i can't say I am happy about losing memories of my home, especially of my...was she my mother, my sister, or my lover that I led armies for?" Tyric paused in a brief moment of agitation, having seemed to drift even further in memory of his past life. He recalled having just thought about her but now he couldn't remember who she truly was to him. "Gods, that is more annoying than I expected it to be. As I was saying I can't say I'm happy about losing my memories, but I know that plenty of people have hoped for a second try at life, like a clean slate before. This is sort of that to a degree. I wonder if I didn't foolishly wish for that just before being brought here." He grumbled after taking a breath to calm himself.

[Daves Computer]

"Where they are from, they will forget soon if they cannot remember already, it was what left me first when I awoke," spoke the old man at the end of the chamber. As if the genasi were not pale enough, these words gave his face an almost ghostly complexion.

"Wait, wait, wait!" the young man shouted in protest, ignoring and perhaps interrupting the pleasantries of his companions. "What do you mean we will forget where we came from? Why are we here? Why can I hardly remember where I came from?!" he cried in a panic. Tense arms on both sides of his hips, he instinctively held his rags with clenched fists for comfort. But it did him no good. These rags felt... unnatural. Everything did from the tattered footwraps which hardly protected him from the moldy, jagged rocks under his feet to the rough, destitute fabric which hardly suited his frame.

Though his companions may have been accustomed to adversity, be it in wars or in scientific pursuits, Faye could hardly say that in his past life. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was accustomed not to adversity but leisure. His greatest struggles were to meld with the expectations of high society for which his family thrived in and endure the lectures of his father and businesspeople of similar stature. His hands were not calloused from laborious work. His brows were not creased from profound thought and questioning. His back was not crooked from years of studying and pouring over texts. Like the entitled child he was in his previous life, he stood in the abysmal chamber like a protesting child with a rebellious tone and reddened eyes which refused out of pride to let tears fall out.

[Stahlarev]

"Science? Bug fella', you're transported to another world and you want to do...science? I admire your dedication, but what kind of science are you planning on doing in the middle of a scrap?"

"Ah, but science is always important! Perhaps we can help this world with it. Not even old age can withstand the unrelenting tidal wave of science, when all the variables are accounted for, at least. Maybe the people of this world needs science. Better crops, better tools, better medicine. All of those would be a godsend, if the state of the world is as terrible as I'm expecting it to be. I don't know much about you, but you do look like someone whose in tune with some of the sciences, particularly weapons." Johann said, turning his head to look at the much taller Clive as they walked.

The concept of Clive being disgusted by him briefly flashed in his mind, and it caused him to remember something. Oh, right. Johann spent his time far away from civilization, so he completely forgot about the fact that he was, in essence, a unique creature. Still, he was expecting the talking boulder to attract more attention.

"Forgive me, the term science is new to me, but I imagine it may come in handy, not necessarily in the form of fighting, but in healing and medicine. I can't imagine all the ills of this world require murder, perhaps some call for a gentler hand."

"You are correct. I specialize in a form of healing and medicine, particularly relating to the health and capability of living beings. Unfortunately I'm not much use in a fight for now." Johann replied, pausing before continuing.

"We'll see if the problems plaguing this world can be solved by the sword. However, perhaps arming the good with the knowledge to fight evil might be the solution. Still technically using the sword, but I believe it's a better way to go about things." He continued.

"We seem to be quite excited for this calling we were allegedly summoned for. I'm quite surprised. We only just woke up in a damp room and given vague pointers." He said, to nobody in particular.

Meanwhile in the background, Johann's mind was working hard, trying to re-remember the important bits of his life and work. The ingredients for various chemicals, the... unfortunate transformation..., and the techniques of his 'science'. He needed to keep refreshing in his mind, at least until he got a notebook so he could write it all down where it can be preserved for the time to come.

[Lazarian]

"Ah, but science is always important! Perhaps we can help this world with it. Not even old age can withstand the unrelenting tidal wave of science, when all the variables are accounted for, at least. Maybe the people of this world needs science. Better crops, better tools, better medicine. All of those would be a godsend, if the state of the world is as terrible as I'm expecting it to be. I don't know much about you, but you do look like someone whose in tune with some of the sciences, particularly weapons." Johann said, turning his head to look at the much taller Clive as they walked.

"Guess all those eyes are good for something, ain't they?" Clive said, caught by surprise. The creature's appearance still bothered him, but the scholarly accent and extensive vocabulary combined with the insectoid exterior was almost amusing, in some sort of grotesque way. Certainly defied the expectations. And it looked like they were stuck together for at least a while, so...might as well get over it. "Well, you ain't wrong. S'pose all the scars gave it away." he chuckled, not elaborating further on the subject. Better not to give one's hand away before necessary and all that.

"Forgive me, the term science is new to me, but I imagine it may come in handy, not necessarily in the form of fighting, but in healing and medicine. I can't imagine all the ills of this world require murder, perhaps some call for a gentler hand."

the older man interrupted, having regained his bearings. Clive eyed him warily. This chap was very muscled, with a large scar down the left side of his face. Definitely a veteran of some sort of war - probably the closest thing to the "champions" that the Source had called upon, if it was searching for heroes of legend. Reminded him of some of the older Guardsmen that patrolled the streets of the wealthy neighborhoods, veterans of the Six Year War between Rusval and Dunwall. Usually not fellas to mess with.

"You are correct. I specialize in a form of healing and medicine, particularly relating to the health and capability of living beings. Unfortunately I'm not much use in a fight for now." Johann replied, pausing before continuing. "We'll see if the problems plaguing this world can be solved by the sword. However, perhaps arming the good with the knowledge to fight evil might be the solution. Still technically using the sword, but I believe it's a better way to go about things."

"Didn't you hear the part about where this land is going to kill several of us?" Clive replied irritably, crossing his arms. "Sounds like a job for shot and steel if you ask me."

The Devil - no, Tyric - approached them, and Clive gave him a friendly nod. Despite the horned visage and crimson eyes, he seemed like one of the more approachable members of this group. Had a good level head on 'im, especially considering their unpleasant circumstances. It seemed as if they were destined to be together for a time, and all things considered, it was probably easier to befriend a devil than it was to befriend an insect or a moth.

Casually, he looked around at the other fellows in his predicament as they slowly followed Damocles down the tunnel, assessing each and every one of them. It was always good to make friends with the right people. Besides, he was almost certain that once they left this "Source" place, they'd argue about appointing a leader. Most groups of rogues had one, after all. And while Clive had almost no intention of being said leader, he wanted to get in close with whoever that might be.

The glowing Sunstone creature was a marvel - earth and stone moving fluidly as if it were a man. Was it really even alive, without blood and a beating heart? Or did it have those delicate veins, hidden behind an armored coating? It was a fascinating enigma, though in any other circumstance Clive would have been terrified of the thing. But frankly, this entire experience was a waking nightmare, so the rock man was not the highest priority right now.

The old warrior seemed to be gaining his wits about him. Though, his question about science implied that the Enlightenment, which had brought muskets and whale oil to Tellus, had not yet happened in whatever world the older man came from. He seemed to be a regular man, otherwise. And there were likely no odd creatures from his world either, seeing as he seemed to share Clive's initial distaste for some of the nonhumans here. Clive saw his own uncertain gaze in those eyes. This chap had good odds of being a soldier or guard, as his eyes were searching the room much like Clive's own.

The shorter green man followed as well. Clive didn't have much of an opinion of the thing yet. It had a massive nose and wide ears, as well as long skinny fingers. An odd creature for sure. Its brand wrapped around the legs - if he had a chance, he'd have to ask Damocles what all these brands were for.

There was one more, wasn't there? Looking behind him, he noticed the blue chap standing alone in the chamber exit behind them, fists clenched and eyes red. He'd undergone an outburst in the midst of Damocles's spiel, visibly upset about his missing memories. Understandable, frankly, but a clear sign of weakness. But here was an easy chance to earn a favor or two later down the line, eh?

"Excuse me for a moment, good sirs." he said to Johann, Tyric, and Tralios. "I've got some business to attend to. I'll catch up with you lot in a minute."

Walking backwards through the hallway, he drew closer to Faye. The man looked like a ghost - his face and skin were a light blue, and he trembled or shivered from the cold. As Clive approached, he scanned the lad over. Younger than the majority of the group, though perhaps age showed differently in nonhumans. Delicate hands and fair skin, not scarred. Looked like he was on the verge of tears, to be honest.

"Ay, chappie, it'll be alright." Clive said gruffly, extending a hand to the scared youth. "Come along now. You can't stay here with the rocks and puddles. I get that these circumstances ain't the greatest. But whether we like it or not, we're here and we've got 'ta deal with it."

[Daves Computer]

"Excuse me for a moment, good sirs." he said to Johann, Tyric, and Tralios. "I've got some business to attend to. I'll catch up with you lot in a minute."

Walking backwards through the hallway, he drew closer to Faye. The man looked like a ghost - his face and skin were a light blue, and he trembled or shivered from the cold. As Clive approached, he scanned the lad over. Younger than the majority of the group, though perhaps age showed differently in nonhumans. Delicate hands and fair skin, not scarred. Looked like he was on the verge of tears, to be honest.

"Ay, chappie, it'll be alright." Clive said gruffly, extending a hand to the scared youth. "Come along now. You can't stay here with the rocks and puddles. I get that these circumstances ain't the greatest. But whether we like it or not, we're here and we've got 'ta deal with it."

Faye timidly lifts his gaze towards Clive. His kind gestures certainly bring the genasi some warmth in a frigid place such as this, but it moreso brings him back to some semblance of composure. Like a defense mechanism, his pride begins to kick in and the feebleness in his posture and redness in his eyes fade. The genasi gives a solemn nod. "I'll be alright," he grumbles, taking in a deep breath of that moldy, murky cavern air. "I just supposed I wouldn't wake up dressed in tatters and waking up on some stone mattress to become a 'Champion' of a world I've never known. Gods, I don't know if I can carry out any 'Champion duties' in these flimsy footwraps. Walking on uneven ground seems like a pretty insurmountable duty as it is!" he added with a half-hearted chuckle.

Before proceeding with the rest of the group, Faye accepted Clive's extended hand with a handshake. Firmly as if to prove he was strong and capable despite whatever impression his teary-eyed appearance gave. "Thank you for checking in with me. The name's Faye. Faye Thorne. And what might I call you er... chappie?"

[Kassaran]

Damocles, for his part, said little in response to the conversation slowly taking hold around himself. Even when the concerns of the newcomers had been given breath and form, all that could be heard from his place at the head of their procession was the steady clicking of hooves against the stonework flooring. As the conversation slowly turned more and more to silence and those that had fallen in behind Damocles began to turn themselves towards trying to retain what information that had carried over with them into the new world, his body seemed to suddenly shift and ripple as if a disturbed reflection in a pool of water. His form slowly shifted downwards and around him a series of other ripples took hold about a large and ornate stone door. Ancient runes inscribed along the frame carried a soft and faint glow which grew in strength and vibrancy before suddenly dimming. Damocles' head turned to the side and the faint sheen of a fine layer of steam pooled off and around his shoulders as though he'd suddenly grown warmer by several degrees.

"To those of you whom have been chosen to take on this duty, even as we speak the corrupted seek you out to bring ruin to you and this world. You must first be weighed on the merits of your soul and given a calling, a role to which you will be expected to pursue the fight against the Corruption at every turn. For some, it will be a calling you have known for your entire life and will endeavor to carry on in this world. For others, it will be a role you know little about and will be forced to grow into. Know that failing to fulfill your role will bring you closer to becoming one of the fallen... those known only as Pariahs."

Damocles' hand waved over a small stone dais which had slowly risen from the floor beside him, the inverted obelisk seeming to float on a shimmering wave of air. Seeming to accept the passing of the hand over itself, the obelisk shifted and slid smoothly back into the hole in the stonework beneath it. Around the obelisk, streams of runes and strange patterns took on a glow which spread in a web of sigils and larger runes across the door's threshold. Not a sound could be heard from the magical machinations of the ancient spell work, but within the blink of an eye, the door had parted and slid into the wall along the edges. Beyond, a room which slowly grew in luminance was revealed and inset in its walls were seven doors. Three to either side and one on the far end. The old man, his hooved feet now gone and replaced with the simple feet of a human, walked into the space beyond and stepped to the side to usher in the remaining members. He spoke clearly and with a power in his voice he'd not had before.

"This is the Origin Hall, the center of the Source and the point which will determine your role to play on this world for what time you have remaining. As for what equipment you have access to, please excuse me for my lack of preparation, but what you wear is what I could provide. You all were asleep for some several hours before you awoke, and I took the liberty of clothing you and preparing a meal for when you are done here. The magic which runs in this place is powerful and prevents much from entering or changing, such as it has been for thousands of years, if not longer."

He paused, looking at those gathered around, before sighing wearily.

"This world is not an easy place in which to survive and even now I fear that my meager preparations for all of you will not be enough, but such was told to us when we finally emerged upon the surface. Around us are seven doors, upon six of which are symbols corresponding to the seals each of you now bear. Approach and be given your title so you may enter into the rooms beyond, but be warned that I know not what lies beyond five of those doors. In the rooms beyond, you will be given your first Rite, a ritual designed to unlock your latent magical aptitude and begin your journey. Know now though, that Rites are the most dangerous aspect of your growth as a Champion outside of the Corruption and to undergo a Rite takes a toll on your mind and body. I would recommend only undertaking a Rite when you are safe or know that you are safe. Who will be first among you to begin? If you have any questions I have not yet answered, feel free to ask them, but make haste in doing so."

[Stahlarev]

"You seem rather cryptic." Johann said.

"Would you mind explaining to us what happened to you during your 'rite'?"

'Something that takes its toll on the mind and body'. Johann was no stranger to that, so he wasn't afraid of anything beyond those foreboding doors. But what could it be? If it was a trial of endurance and constitution of the mind and the body, he thought he could handle that just fine. A test of teamwork and camaraderie? That one he would fail pretty badly. Or worse, a trial of virtues. Johann lived a very wicked life, he would fail that in a heartbeat. But the temptation of power interests him more than the risk of death. He didn't have any powers before, it was all science. He survived by being smart and knowing everything about his area, and a gunpowder weapon he found was useful too. "Power? Death? Hmm..." Johann ruminated.

"To the Vaults with it. I'm not afraid of death. The idea of receiving power is... intoxicating." He thought to himself, but he still had a little nagging feeling at the back of his mind, which he mostly ignored.

Back then in the Vaults he would experiment on all sorts of organisms. His kill count of beast and man alike are high, even beyond his memory. He came from a land of great lawlessness and competition after all, so what he did was justified in his eyes, but... he knew it was unethical, he knew it was wrong for him to do all that.

"Great, now after pondering upon the secrets of the door and the test that lies beyond it, I'm worrying." Johann thought to himself.

Still, his curiosity overpowered his anxiety. From what he knows, there's power behind that door, and he liked power. He just hopes it isn't a test of goodness and selflessness.

Johann approached the door that bore his seal, or at least what he thought was his seal. He just went to the door that had a different seal than what the others had. His seal was on his forehead so it wasn't exactly possible to see what his one was. He touched the door, almost ready to enter, just waiting for some more answers.

[Daves Computer]

Breathlessly, or nervously rather, the genasi's eyes remained fixed to Damocles. He clings onto every word he makes, hoping that the next one brings him relief or answers at the very least. Following close beside Clive, Faye remains silent save for the light thuds his soggy footwraps make with each step made throughout the cavernous corridor. His hand lightly traces the stonework lining the walls, curiously feeling its uneven, chiseled form, though Faye retained his attention squarely on Damocles.

Gradually, though not entirely readily, Faye comes to an understanding with Damocles intentions. The role he was given, the "corrupted," and trials that would test him and his group to their very limits in order to realize their truest potential. Though Faye couldn't quite say he was eager to accept such a daunting role, was there any chance he could refuse? Return to his old world, his old life?

Upon the introduction of the seven doors and "Rites," Faye looked at his hand. Dried blood on his palm imprinted from his forehead formed a mirror image of the Water rune burned into his forehead. He looks to Clive curiously, scanning his forehead for symbols. Nothing. He then scannes the rest of him until he stumbles upon the Fire rune run along his arms. This had peaked his curiosity. Perhaps there was a reason his and Clive's rites looked and were placed so differently. Hovering his hand nearest to Clive's rune, he looks to the man and asks curiously, "Do you know what these tattoos, or burns rather, mean? Why are ours so different?"

If these symbols indeed corresponded to the wellspring of the individual's power as Damocles had insinuated, perhaps it was no surprise that the burly Clive had his rite wrapped around muscular, dexterous arms. Though that did little to explain the variation in designs and why Faye's was on the center of his forehead. Perhaps time, or whatever would come of the eager Johann's trial, would tell. He didn't protest Johann being the first of the group to approach the doors. In fact, he was rather relieved to not have to be the guinea pig among the group for whatever trials were behind those doors.