The loaves of kholash bread line the plates of the weary prisoners of the North Wing. It's a sight you've long gotten used to. You pick your own up and bite into it with a grimace. By now, you don't wince at the sour-bitter crusty taste that sustains you in Hell. There's better food around, but it's only rarely that you manage to steal it or trade for it. Some days even your kholash bread is taken from you, and then you go hungry. What is there to do about it?
You look at your reflection in the worn, rusty metal platter and see:
['A]: A tired human, stained with grime and filth. (Jack of All Trades)
['B]: A scarred ghovash, scales scratched and long ear nibbled. (Pack Mentality)
['C]: A face once perfect, now brought to ruin. Tipped ears and marred symmetry. (Elvish Circle)
['D]: A forgotten horror, bound by chains wrought of shattered souldust. (The Lost Color) (Bound Entity)
Even the greatest of evils sentenced to stay forever in Hell receive a sentence. A justification, sometimes solid, sometimes flimsy. The law of the realm outside is such that even a tyrant must wear a law-following mantle, or at least a pretense at one. If they did not, it would end poorly for them. As such, you have been sentenced. The mark of your crime is written upon your record in the Warden's chambers.
['A]: You wrought forbidden magic, and succeeded. The fact of your success did not change your fate. (Grand Magus)
['B]: You sought vengeance upon a beloved public figure, and succeeded. An example has been made of you. (Vengeful Drive)
['C]: You were framed for committing treason - and there is only one place to go for those who commit treason. (Hidden Truth)
['D]: Your existence alone was enough to get you captured and sent to Hell. (Forbidden Blood) (Hated)
You finish your kholash bread and head to your cell. Best not to stay in the open too long without protection or need. Then a chain of light forms around your neck, and tugs. You know exactly what this is. The Warden's Summons. Their way of taking a single prisoner and calling them for a meeting. Or an execution, if need be. You don't know what you, of all people, did to deserve this. Nonetheless, struggling against this chain is not going to end well for you. Many have tried so far. None that you know of have succeeded. You let the chain guide you. Nobody gets in your way. They know what would happen if they did. You pass through doors that normally would never open for you. Pass by the guard-golems that normally would strike you down for daring to enter their presence. Step into the Warden's Office.
The Warden's corpse is slumped over in his chair. Ah.
... ah.
You're the new Warden, now. Of everyone trapped here in Hell... why did it have to be you?
Right. First order of business:
['A]: Deal with that corpse.
['B]: Panic. Probably scream a bit.
['C]: You're still hungry, and you've heard the Warden has a personal pantry.
['D]: Assert control of yourself. Panic later. For now, figure out the Warden's cause of death, and figure out what you're meant to do to begin your new job. Suppress the pain inside.
Author
Topic: Warden [SG] (Read 1234 times)