A Second Chance

[Azrael]

Closed to Requiem of Insanity and Les Misérables
A few hours from the borders of Radasanth, a stone prison stood in the middle of nowhere. It held many kinds of criminals—from lowly pickpockets to dangerous murderers. Azrael Talmatt was one of the criminals being held there. He was kept on the floor with most of the other high risk criminals.

The prison was dark and cold, and the damp walls didn’t help in making things the least bit comfortable. Some of the prisoners groaned and growled, thinking that the guards would have even just a little pity for their souls. They were fed with stale bread for every meal. Most of them didn’t even bother taking a bite anymore, as they knew their death sentence was fast approaching.

Azrael was in such a state after a failed attempt at assassinating a man whose name he had never heard of before that week. He had no idea that the man was a top official of Corone’s government. Since the reward promised to him was meager, he simply assumed the person would be nobody important. It was the dead of the night, and Azrael hadn’t even reached the official’s bedroom when he was caught. He realized his mistake too late, when a dozen armed bodyguards surrounded him, and he had no choice but to turn himself in. The knives in his hands explained everything that they needed to know. Before he knew it, he was sent to the prison. His past crimes were exposed within the records, and his death was sentenced within the week.

The man gave an exasperated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. This was not how he imagined his hundred years of life to end. Across the dark cell, he could hear a man snoring loudly. Azrael didn’t even know what time of the day it was anymore. There were no windows, as if the prison wanted to remove any remaining essence of humanity that was left in each one of those being kept in there.

He could hear some men laughing, and at the corner of his eye, he could see a young girl going from cell to cell. She spoke to the men from the opposite side of the steel bars, and Azrael couldn’t hear what she was saying. Whatever the young girl was saying was drowned out by the laughter of most of the men she spoke to. Even the guards found what she was saying as something amusing. Azrael wondered momentarily why a little girl would be taking such a risk. Almost nobody came to the criminals during visitation hours—most of them had no family or friends, and that included Azrael.

Finally, the little girl reached Azrael’s cell. The man could see her young face from across the bars, and he politely stood up and approached her, also curious as to what she was doing.

“The Dark Mother may come to save your soul,” she said, her eyes transfixed on him. “Do you wish for your soul to be saved?”

The words the young girl uttered were straightforward, but they also held much mystery to them. Azrael realized she was looking for people to join a religion, or a cult. But what use was that going to be for people who were behind bars? What the young girl was doing seemed to be futile in Azrael’s eyes, as almost every criminal there was about to leave this world.

“That would be nice,” Azrael replied simply, even if he knew it would make no difference. He had nothing to lose. The girl nodded, and before he knew it, she handed him something through the bars. Confused, he took it, and looked down at the white flower in his hand. The young girl left, and began speaking to those in the next cell. Looking around, Azrael saw that several other criminals also held white flowers in their hands. He looked down at his own hand, still confused at what had happened.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra’s eyes peered at the vastness of the full moon, her inner emotions stirring like a cat on a windowsill as she waited deep in the clawing darkness of a tree. It had been exactly four months since she was kicked out of the Ixian Knights, and exactly three months since she began to process to achieve her newest, and boldest, plan. Cassandra Remi smiled as she thought about her goals, and how easily they were coming together. With a pat on the tome that held the ancient pacts and rituals that had once brought her soul back to the living she turned looking into the cold emptiness of the forest behind her.

It was only five seconds later with a thud that a body fell on the ground, followed by a pair of dusty boots. She looked to the wrapped up bundle, noticing it didn’t squirm or struggle and angrily she lifted her gaze to the rising form of a powerfully built man, his eyes as cold as hers as he flipped his fingers over his overall suspenders and fixed them straight.

“Bastard wasn’t easy to find,” He spoke in a gruff, guttural voice. His eyes narrowed on the body with malice as his fingers flexed instinctively in a manner to denote harm. Cassandra lifted an eyebrow to hear this man complain, for it wasn’t a common occurrence.

“If it gives you trouble, dear father, than perhaps he was worth the wait. You are late by the way. This mission is all about timing.” Jebb Remi lifted his head, his oily black strands flipping out of his cold hazel eyes as he flashed a wild grin to his daughter. With a grin that would make a devil flinch he gestured to the bundled body.

“Don’t bitch about the delivery method and process if you won’t bother to go collect yourself. A fine job yor doing of sitting back and watching your family do all the work,” Jebb teased as he pulled out an arms length machete knife that glinted the lethality of the sharp edge in the moonlight. Cassandra passed her father a smirk.

“I did learn from the best armchair general in the world,” Cassandra teased, thinking of Sei Orlouge. While a brilliant mind the mute Mystic was, and undoubtedly his army was more of a military sound organization than the one she was forming, Sei had his flaws like any other mortal. Pride kept him ignorant to the dangerous Cassandra posed, and his unwillingness to show her he was capable of caring out his threats led his more incredible generals start to push boundaries. When he was called upon such actions he had even fired Jensen Ambrose, which made the Serial Killer most happy to hear. Simply put, Sei could lead an army, but he couldn’t run one to save his life. The Ixian Knights were drowning, and what he thought would be a horrible event actually presented better opportunities than ever before!

Jebb smiled as he lowered the knife to cut the binds, taking his time as he cut the straps slowly and when the last one was cut he gripped the blanket and pulled harshly, rolling the body out onto the lush grass. The light of the moon showed her the pale features of the elven race, the eyes shut tight as the lips slowly began to open and close from a deep sleep. One arm was missing which made her look to father with concern.

“A one armed wonder will be the one to break us into this prison?” Cassandra voiced her thoughts. “What in the name of the Thaynes is wrong with you?” Jebb lowered his machete to the elf’s neck, and started tapping the creature on the chin to wake them.

“Trust me, my darling child,” Jebb whispered. “Think on my words that I had said not moments earlier.” Cassandra was about to give him an earful when she decided to take the advice. She closed her eyes to think, and with a smirk she remembered the difficulty her father had in obtaining this person.

“Well, if it gives even you trouble,” Cassandra muttered as she pulled out the long Dehlar sword, dubbed Butcher’s Bill, and pressed it to the chest of the elf. With a knife at the throat and chest Cassandra smiled one of her more charming smiles, waiting until one eyelid softly opened and she could see the iris focus on her.

“Greetings,” Cassandra giggled. “My apologies f or the manner in which I brought you to me, but I have a tight time schedule to make. I have heard tales of your ability to break into prisons, and I need such skills for my own device. Do not worry though, I plan to pay you fairly,” The eyes of the elf darted around, before one hand began to slowly inch towards his belt. Jebb’s boot came crashing down on the wrist of the elf as he leaned into the pointed ear of the lithe creature.

“I would be less animate at this point, if I were you,” Jebb warned with a sick smile. “Don’t want to lose your other arm, now do we?”

“Oh knock it off, Jebb,” Cassandra said as if this was some small scrap on a school yard and everyone was friends. “Our erstwhile child has every right to be suspicious of us. We kidnapped him, sailed him all the way here, and now hold him at knife point. Would you not be a little cranky?” Cassandra offered the question.

“I’d not get caught,” Jebb muttered.

“Well not all of us have the years of experience you have,” Cassandra replied looking back to the elf as she pressed her blade against his shirt. “But that is also, all very, very trivial. What matters is the current mission. I am going to need your help in breaking out every prisoner within those walls that hold a white rose in their cell. Every last one of them, even if it means the entire prison. I need you to do this for me,” Cassandra said calmly. The elf looked to Jebb, then to Cassandra, and cracked a small grin of disbelief.

“I take it you think I am insane,” Cassandra lowered her tone to a more dark one, irritation grating on her nerves as the elf so casually dismissed her deeds. “I assure you, I am not. This has to happen, and I need your help to do it. In return, I can offer you anything, anything at all! Allow me to be absolutely clear about that,” Cassandra lowered the blade as she leaned in. “Anything you desire, I can offer,” She let the thought sink in. If this man met the criteria she was looking for, than his mind would already be thinking of something that only he would benefit from, and it wouldn’t be some trivial concept such as money or intimacy. What he wanted would be deeply personal.

His eyes glossed over as if thinking of the possibilities, but then they retured to focus. The temptations were there, but he needed one last bit of proof before agreeing to work alongside her. That was fair and natural for the elf to think such things. She wouldn’t give anybody the time of day if she were in his shoes. His eyes spoke the question, and she grinned before pulling herself up, letting the full illumination of the move shade half her face, and light the other half up. Her grin was half angelic, the other half demonic as she peered to the elf.

“Who am I to give such things?” Cassandra giggled again. “Why I am the Dark Mother, the Gisela Reaper, The Ixian Scourge, The Fallien Desert Viper, and more importantly, one of the most feared people on this planet!” Cassandra did a low theatrical bow before coming back up, the haunting features on her face exaggerated by the shade of the moon as she looked down upon the elf.

A wave of dread rushed from behind her, a wind like feeling that made the hairs on everyone before her raise, even her father’s as he shook uncomfortably to be within their baleful course. Dark chuckling hissed in each ear, a thousand lies and truths being muttered softly into the mind of the elf as Cassandra lifted her hand to the elf, Jebb’s boot releasing itself from his wrist.

“I am Cassandra Remi,” She said politely. “The goddess of Blessed Torture.”

[Jack Frost]

Cassandra drafted me into this thread...
Jack Frost growled slightly as several burly men dragged him down the prison hall. "don't go out of your way to be gentle..." Jack growled sarcastically. He was dropped, and a heavy boot was smashed into his groin to silence him. He seethed with anger as the heavily armed, and very non-descript guards continued to drag him down the hall.

Jack was here for one reason only, he had gotten caught at the scene of a murder holding a bloody knife. It wasn't his knife of course, in fact he had never even met the man before. It wasn't like Jack had any trouble with killing, but being framed was getting on his nerves.

The hall was dark, lit by torches every now and then, and both the floors and walls were made out of incredibly rough black stone. "There's a special place in hell for murderers" one of the guards growled in a deep baritone voice. He heard the clang of metal and he was throne into a pitch black cell.

He landed with a loud thud, and turned to watch the cell door slam shut. He crawled toward the barred doors and checked himself for any injuries. His jewels hurt from the earlier kick, and he had a few scrapes, but he would live on. All he would have to do was wait for Lorenor to take notice of his absence and find him. His boss was good about that.

...
A week later neither Lorenor, nor any other member of dissonance, had not arrived. Jack was beginning to get nervous. The food was absolute garbage, not worthy to even feed to the undead legions of the damned. The living conditions were the equivalent of a pig sty.

Jack found himself pacing his cell every day for what he assumed were hours at a time. He had to keep sane somehow. He found himself contemplating life, and existence itself. Right as he seemed to have it all nailed down, that all his life really was happened to be the wild thoughts of a teenage boy, a young girl appeared by his barred door.

“The Dark Mother may come to save your soul,” she said, her eyes transfixed on him. “Do you wish for your soul to be saved?” Jack paused and fixed his teal eyes on her. "Hello there little one!" He said rushing towards the door. "You say this dark mother can save my soul?"

He asked intrigued. Perhaps Lorenor had sent her, and the dark lady stood for N'Jal. "Sure, I'd love my soul to be saved." He replied shooting her a somewhat honest smile. She handed something through the bars and Jack took it. It was a white flower. Jack raised it to his nose and took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the flower. He smiled and his teal eyes began to scan the area around him.

He had nothing but his clothes, simple dark blue jeans and a puffy winters Jacket, which was odd due to the fact that most would find the temperature outside too warm for a coat. he scammed the bars, slamming his weight against one of them. Rock solid, he wasn't getting out that way. Looks like he would have to return to his waiting game.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra observed the night, eyes cast upwards to the stone fortress that soon she would need to scale. Many years ago she would once do this very thing, wait outside a castle for an opportunity to climb it and assault the denizens inside with her own mischief. Yet this time she was not going to cut those so desperately deserved her attentions, but instead free them and offer them a place at her side. She had already sent her darling Catherine, the deluded child who loved her like a mother, to scope out the believers from the non. Those with a white rose would be let loose, and those with a red one would be freed as well, only to be cut down in the end. The game she was playing at was dangerous indeed, and Cassandra knew she had no time to waste.

At last the signal came. Her father had moved onwards with the drow in tow, and when his mute carcass came flying over the edge of the tower wall and collapsed in a bloody heap at her feet she sighed lustfully. Though she and her father had two very different angles of how to torture a soul, they both respected the results one produced. A rope was attached to the newly killed drow’s waist, and Cassandra tested the strength of her grappling hook by tugging twice on the thick fibers. Satisfied with the results she climbed upwards into the night, a lone shade upon the wall. The enchantment of her sneaking suit made her all but totally invisible in the night, and any patrolmen from the facility would be found by her father and dealt with. Stealth was only so far of the plan, she mused.

As her body was about halfway up the fifty foot tower she felt the rope begin to tug. Looking upwards in alarm she found Jebb pulling on it to aid her in getting up quicker. She pulled out a large ring from her pocket and managed to tie it into the rope. Climbing upwards a bit farther she hooked her leg on the ring and bent down enough to pull out her hunting knife. With practiced ease she cut at the rope below her until the dead weight of the body upon the end shore it off. Without the need to heft up two bodies her father was able to pull faster and up Cassandra went with a childish giggle.

At last she stood upon solid ground as she hooked one leg over the ledge, her father grabbing her leg and pulling her in. With a grunt he tossed her the two items she requested he hold for her, a Dehlar blade dubbed the Butcher’s Bill, and a small cold Dehlar butterfly knife called Absolute Zero. With trinkets in hand she played with the butterfly blade in her hand while looking to her father who turned and ripped open a closet door. Cassandra waited with bated breath, for the last part of her plan was now to come to fruition. There was one person on the inside who paraded as a janitor for the night crew. This person was also very special to Cassandra, and to see him meant more than just the world to her. She literally damned her own soul twice to bring him back to her side, and he was the only person she actually felt the human emotion of love for. Though he wasn’t needed for her ascension to godhood, she demanded he be alive for the last days of her humanity. Sure, there was the risk that if the ritual failed her soul would be devoured, but if she succeeded than her divinity would purify her soul and all was to be undone.

Kane Kucan was worth such a risk to her.

Long ago she once traveled with the man, using him as a sadomasochistic pawn for her own games. Yet somewhere she had developed feelings for the man, and his fate soon became her concern after swearing to his face multiple times he was nothing more than an insect to her. When she had died once before, it was Kane who saved her from the River of the Damned. She in turn acknowledged her feelings for him, but also killed him not wishing to have that level of weakness. However, Althanas had a funny saying that death was just a revolving door. Sure enough, using the same power that brought her back into the world she brought back Kane, and now, stumbling out of the closest like an un-choreographed dancer, was the man she loved.

“It seems we are all set,” Jebb grunted in his usual demeanor, taking the axe strapped to his back and dumping it in Kane’s hands. Her father didn’t approve of Kane, but she cared not once for anything that bastard thought. Kane looked to the weapon stupidly before looking up to see Cassandra. There was that indescribable moment that passed between their eyes. Lovers who saw each other after months of dutiful waiting. Both could feel their heart jump to even gaze upon the other, but quickly the feeling faded. Kane was a welcome sight, but the mission had to be finished first.

“Cat has assured me she had handed out thirty red roses, and fifty four white roses. If the prison cells do not contain one, we skip it. It will not sate our appetite and not be of any help to the cult.” Both men nodded in understanding. She turned to her father and nodded. “You will go to death row and free them, find the one’s you can trust by instinct and have them aid you, father.”

“I don’t need to be reminded like an idiot how to do my job. Let me work and you’ll get results.” Jebb turned to run down the stairwell that would lead to the darkest depths of the prison where the most criminal of offenders would be found. Cassandra watched her father go, debating on reminding him who really was in charge, but she could tell it was just the thrill that some of those people would be his playmate that evening. The hunt did make most killers like herself tend to lose focus.

Looking to Kane she smiled, holding a hand out to him. “Come, darling, we will go to the east cell block. There was one our daughter spoke of I wish to meet myself.” Kane hesitantly looked to her hand, and with a grimace he took it. “Do not fear Kane, I no longer have to be afraid of my love for you,” Cassandra whispered.

“Yes, I know that, but your dark Companion still has…umbridge with our relationship,” Kane spoke gripping his shirt by his heart. “He does not like the way I look at you.”

“It is right for my dark deluded darling to feel this way, but he chose to inhabit you when I reached divinity. My ambitions may stir within you Kane, but they are still enthralled to my desires. You haven’t need fear them. Trust me, love.” Kane looked to her before softly nodding in confidence.

“I never did like that parasite,” Kane muttered. Cassandra merely grinned to him. “But if your desire is for us to be together and become one than so be it. I’ll endure worse than this just to be by your side.”

“That’s my devoted Kane,” Cassandra cooed. “Come now.”

((Jebb is heading for you Jack, and Cass is heading for you Azreal. You can escape in your posts with their help, and go nuts killing guards, or swearing fealty, or just doing whatever it is you desire. But the point of it all is to get free so that we can begin the riot to escape.))

[Melchior]

First piece as Melchior... hell, first piece ever. I am here after talking to Requiem about it in PM :D

Melchior sat in his cell, quiet. Mentally, he was removed from all other inmates as he was incapable of relating to them, let alone seeing them from lack of eyesight. The dark, decrepit pit that was the prison was clouding his perception entirely. The only way he knew he was actually in prison was because of the putrid smells that lurked in the air. It was a palpable air, full of the fragrance of piss, blood, and sweat. The stale bread was also another indicator, but, he made it a goal to stay away from it for as long as he could.

He heard a girl at the opposite end of the hall going on about flowers, dark mothers, and what not. It was mantra-like in the regard that she really only said one thing; “The Dark Mother may come to save your soul, Do you wish for your soul to be saved.” Melchior was slightly put-off by this unholy obscurity, but decided to remove it from his mind entirely… after all, there was no reason for her to ask him.

It was not but moments later when her small-footed steps were moving towards him. He heard them from the distance growing louder and louder, but still soft enough to the pacing of a small girl. The steps stopped a few feet away, in front of the cell. Melchior smirked and held it for a moment. “I suppose you’re going to ask me if I want to be saved, correct?”

“The Dark Mother may come to save your soul, do you wish for your soul to be saved?” she calmly said, seemingly avoiding Melchior’s initial question.

Melchior wiped the smirk off of his face. He turned his face towards the girl’s direction. There was nothing there, to him. “Of course, I wish for my soul to be saved” Melchior muttered. “…but not by darkness,” he followed, under his breath.

Completely unaware of what Melchior said under his breath, she proceeded by offering him a flower. “Here, take this” she said, while reaching through the cell with flower in hand.

Melchior, - who’d been sitting in the far corner- proceeded to get to his knees, and eventually a standing position. He crept over to the girl, weak from his lack of ingestion. He grabbed the flower from the girl, with minimal issues caused by his complete inability to see anything. “Heh, it’s usually the guys that give the flower to the girl,” he said, again smirking. Once the flower was in his grasp, she’d already begun walking away. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure if she’d heard his comment or not. He tried to look at the flower, to make out what kind it was. Unfortunately, there was not enough light to make out a shape, or even a color. He turned around and wobbled back over to where he had been before, and just waited… flower in hand.

--

After a few moments, he had drifted asleep. In dreams, that is the only time Melchior could see clearly. Shortly before drifting off, he was trying to recall the very incident that landed him in his current dilemma. The thoughts came to him in the dream that followed.

It had been roughly three weeks prior; deep within the Concordia Forest. Melchior does not like to sleep on the ground when he is not being sheltered by something, or someone, for that matter. He is a light sleeper, to say the least, so being high in a tree gives him quite a bit of reaction time should someone be lurking below. However, on this night, it was not something he had to worry about...

Melchior woke in the middle of the night. He could sense that it was in the early hours of morning, a few hours prior to sunrise; the dew was not heavy yet, and the light of the moon allowed for him to see the outline of trees and other various objects. Had it been day, he could have seen shades of grey, rather than just outlines. That aside, however, the reason for him being awake was above him. NOW! Melchior rolled to the right off the branch he was on and descended down the core of the tree. The branches that were in his path on the way down served as a means to slow his fall, breaking on impact. He landed on the ground and recovered himself from the rush of thoughts he had just been overwhelmed by.

He looked back up to where he had been sleeping to find the sleek outline of an arrow sticking out like a sore thumb in the light of the moon. Calmly, he adjusted his robes and tightened his eye band. "Regardless of who this person is, they are rather audacious to wake me from my slumber," he said to himself while drawing his katana from its sheath. Slowly, he started towards the source of the arrow and proceeded to pick up his speed.Within moments he was at full sprint, sword ready.

It was not long before he came upon a small clearing in the forest. A small camp at been set up; the blazing fire and mumbling voices were indicative of this. The light of the fire brought on an enhanced view for Melchior's perception. All stood still, Melchior included, for but a moment. The near-silence was broken by a stranger’s shout- "There he is, get him!”

Melchior swept his katana in front of him in preparation. “Don’t think you can wake me up, make me come all the way out here, and expect me to be cordial” he said, straight-faced. “Come at me, if you think you can take on Melch-“. He abruptly stopped, as he was bludgeoned in the back of the head. Melchior fell to his knees and faded slowly out of consciousness.

Before he drifted, he heard a voice cry in celebration “Yeeeeahhhh, we caught the mighty Gandolmir!”

--

Melchior woke up in the cell. “Damn, they think I’m someone I’m not.” he shrugged. Realizing his words would fall upon the deaf ears of the guards, he decided to just stay put and see how the flower plan turned out. He just waited… flower in hand.

[Requiem of Insanity]

The hallways of the prison were small, barely large enough to for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. The rusting steel grates and the rotting walls gave the place a hint of age, though Cassandra knew better than to think this prison was behind the times. To house a horde of serial killers and rapists and other cretins of society, one could never be lax in their duty.

With sneaking suit fully on and weapon in hand, the Gisela Reaper stalked the shadows as Kane moved swiftly behind her. The two moved as a team as Cassandra peaked around a corner to find a guard walking his route. She pointed to the man and Kane nodded once, turning the corner with menacing steps as he lifted the axe high above his head…

…and scraped it loudly across the low ceiling. The Guard quickly turned, short sword drawn out as he shouted in alarm. Cassandra chastised herself for Kane’s incompetence, as the man was never suited for the world she lived in. Easily the prison warrior shoved Kane onto his back and stepped over him to finish her love off, but as he brought his sword arm back, Cassandra brought hers forwards. The Butcher’s Bill easily pushed through the man’s leather tunic, piercing a lung as he stumbled backwards dropping his weapon and gripping the Dehalr blade in his hands. Cassandra wrenched backwards using her divine strength, cutting one of the guard’s fingers off as she pushed the weapon forwards once more impaling the man in his screaming mouth. The weapon made a loud squishing sound as the scream he admitted became garbled and wet, his body violently twitching as he collapsed backwards, clawing his throat and face as he shifted side to side on the ground like a snake.

Kane slowly rose to his feet, a sheepish look on his face as Cassandra gave him a baleful stare, his eyes casting to the floor as she ran ahead of him. She turned another corner, looking down the corridor with a trained eye and finding the first row of inmates.

“Now to free them…but how…” Cassandra thought. As if the Thayne’s themselves had answered her question she heard jingling of key’s behind her. She turned to see Kane lifting them upwards in one finger, twirling them in a circle as he smiled. Cassandra favored him with a charming smile of her own as she beckoned him over with one finger.

“I love you, you know that?” Cassandra whispered to him. Kane impishly lowered the keys to her hands as he lifted his axe to his shoulder.

“We must hurry, Cassandra,” Kane whispered back. Cassandra looked to him, a bit of a bout on her lips that she hid under her mask to not hear him love her back. Still, he had a point. Mission first. Then she would punish Kane…

“Start with that side,” She pointed to the left. “Look for the white roses.” Both moved forwards as one as they swiftly ran, her heart racing to see her plan taking shape.

((Hey guys, Kane will be freeing you, and Cassandra will stand before you and tell you that the dark mother has come to take care of her children. She'll tell you something along the lines of join her, escape this fate and serve her, or perish and die. Remember she's got a divine spark in her, so she has charisma like no other, and an aura of dread as well that's amplified by her divinity. I trust you guys, so break out and let's make a run for it!))

[Melchior]

It took all he had to keep from going crazy. With the arrival of morning, sunlight would usually follow; not today. On this day, there was only rain. The roof of the prison was poorly constructed, to say the least. Rain water seeped through the crevices and allowed a persistent drip to be heard for the remainder of the day. Unfortunately, Melchior’s cell was amongst the leakiest. There were drips all around him, and they were driving him to a stage of hebephrenia.

For hours, Melchior sat in the corner fed only by his thoughts. The guard had brought the morning round of stale bread, to which Melchior graciously ignored. The guard was pacing up and down the hall passing out the rations for the day. Oddly, at the end of the hall, the footsteps stopped completely. Generally speaking, the guard gets at the far end, turns back around and whistles a tune signaling that he’s done. There was no whistle; there wasn’t even the sound of steps. Melchior heard a scuffing sound, and then it was silent again.

After a few moments of silence, footsteps were heard at the end of the hall. Much to his surprise, there were two sets this time. Is one of them the guard? Melchior was flooded with thoughts for the first time in a while. The drips were irrelevant to him now; they acted more like a metronome to keep his thoughts on track. He leaned forward and inched towards the bars that imprisoned him, still weak from starvation.

Peering out through the bars, he could vaguely see two figures. The light was still insufficient for him to see anything in his mind. Whoever they were, they were stopping rather periodically. It was as if they were searching for something in the cells. Melchior sat, but still pressed against the bars. His legs grew tired from the strain on his body.

Finally, he heard one of them spoke. It was four cells down, on the same side as his. Melchior heard it clear as a bell; he was highly focused on what was going on. The voice was that a female, smooth and seductive…

“Serve under me, and I shall release you from this fate. It is that, or you shall perish.” The woman spoke, solemnly.

Melchior had never heard a more beautiful voice, but could not shake the feeling that it was somehow tainted. His mind drifted as he tried to picture what she looked like. He snapped back moments later to the sound of a cell door opening. He was still incapable of seeing anything in the woebegone prison. With the door opened, a pair of footsteps rushed down the hall past Melchior’s cell, and further onward. The sounds drifted from them, but were replaced by the movement of the other two.

Two cells down, opposite side. The woman spoke again, reciting what she had previously said. Melchior remembered the little girl from before as soon as the woman started talking. I…Can’t believe it. The woman was different from the child; she didn’t speak as an automaton. The concept of what she said was the same, but the words were slightly differentiated. The outcome for this cell was the same as the previous.

Once again, paces were heard. They drifted into the same direction, and were replaced by the other two. The steps stopped in front of Melchior. At last, in all the days he’d spent in the prison, he was finally capable of seeing something in his mind. The long flowing hair of the woman that stood before him was so radiant; all of the light was seemingly absorbed into it. It wasn’t clearly visible to him, but one of the most apparent things that he had seen since losing his eyesight.

“Join me, and you shall be relinquished from these walls. Otherwise, you’ll be left to die.” Again, she’d changed her words.

Melchior realized the urgency of the situation. None of the other convicts had questioned the woman’s words. She spoke and they had immediately put themselves into action. There was no time to dawdle and ask questions like Melchior would have preferred to do. He grabbed hold of the prison bars to assist himself in getting up. It was a struggle at first, but got easier as he rose. “Alright,” he said, “release me, and I will do whatever you need me to do.” He waited for the other person to open the cell. Finally, he’d realized it wasn’t the guard, it was another person entirely. This was a man; Melchior knew by the odor that the man put off. This was especially obvious after comparing it to the enticing aroma of the woman.

Freed from the cell, Melchior stumbled out of the cage that he had been locked away in, and leaned against the wall to support his weak body. The others who had been released ran out, whereas Melchior essentially crawled. The hallway had been all cleared out thus removing any rush from the situation. Melchior took his time, and eventually reached the light of day. The main entry room was the only thing between the dark prison, and freedom. All that remained was regaining his possessions, and leaving. He used a key that was conveniently left on the rickety old desk, and unlocked the locker-like cell. He immediately noticed his sword and robes, and snatched them up. Being closer and closer to freedom, he gained a second wind, and attempted to somewhat dash out of the prison. Freedom. With his first breath of air, he reclaimed his clarity of thought and his only notion of vision.

“I appreciate… What you’ve done for me… And I owe you one…” Melchior huffed to himself.
…But only one.

That seemed too easy. Should people be able to escape from prison that simply?

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra watched as the men stumbled out of their cells, their eyes looking to one another as they gripped their roses tightly. Each one was beyond confused, but the fact of the matter was they really were escaping. The Dark Mother came and soon they would be freed. Any life outside prison was worth more to them than being cooped up in an unsanitary cell. Several of them thought about running, just leaving, but the woman had a hypnotic hold on them, her beauty so much that they couldn’t see themselves fleeing from her side.

She smiled to them all, her toothy flashy smile that was all about enrapturing an audience. They gawked at her, mouths gaping, eyes cast to her with a fever of zealots. She used her divine powers to orchestrate the atmosphere to worship her, feeding off their fledging belief she really was a god. The trick to becoming god was the nasty set of rules she had learned. No god could be accepted within the Pantheon without a following of faith. Miracles and divine favors cost her that blessed faith, so while she could conceivably use all her last ounces of faith to just leave this place, the task would probably make her lose her divinity.

That was not an option.

So she had to spur her newly forming army forwards. Yet before she could someone had spoken, the man setting it out on the table that the guards were mysteriously missing, and the warden hadn’t made any announcements. The eyes of the faithful began to cast doubt upon Cassandra, and she could feel the energy slipping away. Annoyed she turned to Kane and grabbed him by the collar.

“Take four of their number and go,” Cassandra ordered. She looked to her horde of minions and pointed to a lanky, roughish figure in the corner. “You, take four of this number and go the opposite way of this man. I want to create a flanking action. The rest of you with me! We’ll go out the way you came in!”

“But how the hell are we going to open the gates? The warden tells us daily that the two gates can’t be opened at the same time! One has to close for the other to open! Escape is impossible!” Cassandra looked to the frightened boy, an age of no more than eighteen summers and she curled one finger to bring him to her. Two men turned and grabbed him, pushing him towards her. In his hand he clutched a red rose, the signal to Cassandra that this man could only be trusted as far as he could be thrown. Catherine had done such a wonderful job reading into people’s souls.

With ease born from practice Cassandra’s hand went out before in an swipe, blood gushing out the man’s throat as he pirouetted and died, his crimson life force shedding over Cassandra and the wall while it started to pool around his face. The room took a step back from her, some grinning, others horrified. Cassandra concealed the small knife she used to swipe his throat in her hand, pushing it back up into her sneaking suit.

“I just freed you imbeciles from the cages that bound you. Do not think to me as some simpleton! I am the Dark Mother, the Goddess of Blessed Torture!” She challenged every eye in the room as she looked to them all in equal measure. “You would do well not to upset your mother,” Cassandra barked. “I have come to save you, my children, and I do not intend to leave here without you all. Trust in the Dark Mother, for I have a plan.”

“Praise the dark mother!” Someone shouted from the back. Cassandra allowed herself an impish smile. She turned to Kane and the man she picked out earlier. With a snarl she pointed to the hallways and tossed her head at the exit.

“Go, we will distract them for you. Each team needs to make it to the crane and prepare to open one door at a time. That understood?” Kane nodded as he grabbed four men on his way out, but the rouge stood still as he looked to the body, terrified. Cassandra growled as she stepped forwards, looking to the man who explained about the warden. “He’s useless to me,” She explained more to herself than the room of criminals. “You, take his place as the leader. Take four men if you wish and get going, but remember failure will not be tolerated.”

The way she made her threat sound was curious in nature, but she made it clear that even if they failed she would personally comeback for the weak link and deal with them herself. She made sure the idea stuck in their head, pickling as it moved from nerve impulse to nerve impulse. Satsified she turned to the rest of the group.

“Come, we will be the distraction in the main courtyard. The Warden most likely will have a garrison there to detain us, we shall take the fight to them. Let go of your frustrations, let go of the hate you have for your imprisonments! Beat them like they beat you for daring to live the life you were made for! Hate them, for they hate you! You have done nothing wrong, my children! You should never imprison life for being what they are! Even if they are a killer, a rapist, a thief! I am your mother, and I love all my children! Now, go out and show them our love!”

The mob surged forwards down the hallways, fever returning to their bones as Cassandra continued to spur them on. She had learned from Adolph Gretzle of the Ixian Knights the power words can have on the weak minded to steele their nerves and ridge their back straight. She spoke to them about the unfairness of life, how only if you give up what makes you unique are you allowed into society. She would be the home for them, the shelter so they could give into all their dark desires. The mother who would protect her children.

Cassandra Remi smiled once more, the dark vile smile that heralded the death of so many as she led them onwards.

((Mel, you are running to a gate crank to open the doors. Battle time, I would imagine it won’t be ill-guarded. Azareal and Jack, if you guys are still in this, come on in and join the horde! It‘s fighting time!))

[Melchior]

Melchior took no time to reunite himself with his robes. Compared to his silk robes, the cloth prison garb was much heavier. Being liberated from the outfit was peachy, let alone being free from the prison. He swung his sword over his head, and secured it on his back through means of belt. All that remained was a good stretch and a bit of twisting in his waist region to allow the robes to settle in their comfortable position. Melchior let out a sigh of relief to be heading in the right direction again.

Though he had been freed, he had an urge to go back and see what was taking the other two so long. Melchior was perturbed as to why none of the other inmates were around. His stomach grumbled and growled to him as he wondered what his next step would be. The air was calm and clear around him. He took a deep breath, and then slowly knelt to the ground. He focused himself the best he could, given his hunger and anxiety.

Only being able to maintain an average level of focus due to the conditions, he could not hear everything he wanted to. However, he heard just enough of a clamor within the walls of the prison to discern a locus. The uproar was closing in on him, weaving through hallways and rooms. Still focused, he could perceive the illustrious hair of the beauty leading the group. Snapping back from his near-hypnotic state, he readied himself for what was on its way. He was skeptical if his body could even handle this right now, but didn’t have a choice in the matter anymore. He drew his sword from behind his back and stood on the side of the door, to remain unseen to the enemy. At this point, he was almost certain that the woman had regarded his presence.

Running at a rapid pace, the woman emerged from the prison, as well as a few others following behind her. Listening, Melchior could hear the slower, heavier steps of the guards that had drifted behind. It would only be a few more seconds before they appeared outside as well. He flipped his sword around so the blade was facing downward in his forward facing fist. The steps were closer and closer; sword slowly rising above his head. NOW! He stepped in front of the doorway, back facing it, and propelled the sword behind him. The katana pierced the first guard behind him; the tip was ascending to the sky. It went through the abdomen of the first guard, followed by the throat of the second guard. Hastily, he withdrew his blade from the two guards, and flung their blood off of it. The guards crumbled to the ground, bleeding out in agony.

“Woman… I know not of your name, but I shall aid you.” Melchior shouted across the courtyard. “Get the gate; I’ll do what I can to hold them off.”

Turning to face the group, he could sense he was severely out numbered. He backpedaled away from the group and held his katana before him. Slightly woozy from the excitement, he was incapable of focusing on how many guards were actually before him. It could be anywhere from six to twelve, but there was no sure fire way of telling.

“Alright… It would appear there is no way around this.” He said, softly facing the crowd before him. “If you value your lives, I suggest you turn away now. I will not lose, even if it kills me.”

Being moderately armed, the guards thought nothing of Melchior in his silk garbs and decrepit katana. Without regard to being fair, the guards precipitously came at Melchior. Some carried long swords, others wielded a mace. Inept to effectively block attacks with the katana, Melchior had to resort to using it to deflect the heavier weapons to the side. Attempting to block a mace or sword head on would only break his blade.

The first guard to encounter Melchior was taken by surprise. While coming at him with the mace above his head, Melchior slid in and grabbed the guard by the throat. He twisted it to the side, and met the guard’s chest with his knee. Downed, the guard met his maker once Melchior briskly inserted his sword into his spine. The second guard, acting quickly, came at Melchior slashing in a berserk manor. Unable to respond quickly enough, Melchior took a few slashes to his back. Angered, he spun his body around with his sword following in a radial motion. The tip of the sword slid through the eye, and ultimately the skull, of the guard. Irked out, Melchior kicked the guard off of the sword, only to find the eye remaining on the blade.

“Seeing is believing.” Melchior said under his breath, as he whipped the eye off.

Melchior was exhausted. He found great difficulty in trying to stand, let alone actually fighting. He struggled to fight through the next guard, who attacked him from behind as well. The guard, also with a sword, came with great vigor. He attempted to stab Melchior in the back of the neck, but was deflected instead. The sword slid over Melchior’s shoulder, with the blade slicing into it. The incision was rather deep, and did not help with remaining conscious. Melchior fell to his knees in lassitude. With the guard now off balance and leaning atop him, Melchior took his katana and perforated the collar of the guard. The blade sunk all the way through, from neck to pelvis. He slowly retracted the blade, and the guard’s dying body sprawled out on top of him.

Melchior blacked out, incapable of continuing.

((I couldn't allow a lady to endure a fight first. I give you the honors of saving my sorry ass though D: ))

[Requiem of Insanity]

The guards moved to the silk robed body, kicking it twice to see if he lived. When breath filled the unconscious body one of the guards lifted his sword arm upwards, preparing the coup-de-gra with a bitter frown on his face. The man on the floor had killed friends, companions who made the hellish prison bearable, and he did so without mercy. All killers deserved the same fate. They should have killed him a long time ago. All the inmates....

As his arm went down he felt a tingling feeling in his spine, a coldness that made his arm go limp as he felt cold sweat drip down his forehead. He turned behind himself to see only the other guards, their faces looked normal as if they had not felt anything.*

He looked to them, just starring blankly, and in return they merely looked back, unblinking. He rose his sword up, drawing up his Shield as he narrowed his eyes. At last he saw it.*

A small drip of blood escaped out the mouths of all four guardsmen.

He shouted out an alarm, calling to get help as he turned to run, the fearful sensation gripping his nerds and setting them on edge. He tripped on the body, his toes stinging as he dragged them forcibly against the cobblestone. He ran like a deer in flight, all his senses overloading as some dark chuckle passed behind his ear. He turned sharply down a corner, spinning into an open cell door as he gasped in silent terror. He panted like a dog as he clutched his chest to steady his nerves. He could not claim why he was so startled, so scarred of what he was feeling, but the unease kept his heart pumping.*

He listened, trying to discern if allies were on the way, but quickly he regretted his choice. He did hear something, a sound that chilled his bones and made his knees quake. The scraping of metal along the floor echoed ever closer, a slow steady gait that seemed to draw out the event. Panic stricken, the guard turned into the cell and slammed the door shut, fingers fumbling as he locked the door and silently whimpered as he approached the back wall.*

It was a nightmare! The entire prison was being freed, serial killers, rapists, murderers! They walked with impunity and he Ill prepared night watch was caught off guard. The warden had brought the majority of his guard to the front gate, ordering the junior guardsmen to round up the convicts. Now fifteen of them laid dead and he was in a cell, debating on the childish act of wetting himself.*

"What's the matter?" A voice spoke from all around, a throaty, grunting of a tone that had sent another chill down the guard's spine.*

"Wh-Wh-Who's there!" He felt the wind howling in his ear. Dark whispers taunted him as he turned to find nothing behind him. He looked around to find the owner, the scratching getting louder as the guard shrieked in terror and cried, holding himself tightly.*

"Hush little baby..." The voice spoke. The guard continued to cry, muttering incoherently as he looked to the bars of his prison. He saw nothing in the darkness, but still could hear that invasive scratching. He peered into the shadows, looking as he stifled his whimpering. The scratching had suddenly stopped.*

Without warning a shriek pierced the night as a horde of bodies rushed the cage. The guard bellowed as he released all his self control, soiling himself as dozens of bodies reached to grab him. It was a gibbering horde of the prisons maximum security ward, and they called for his blood. One elf looked to him with violent mischief; he recalled her taunting him on his first day. She curled her fingers as she spoke for his love and he stood up walking backwards to escape them all.*

"Let me purge your weakness..." the voice at last had a destination, a point he could discern. He bumped into a tall body, and quivering he looked to who he ran into.*

Looming over him was a man in dark blue overalls, a dirty white shirt as he leered to the guard, lifting up a large knife as he lifted his hand out and grabbed him by the throat. The guard lost himself as he screamed, the mass of bodies watching and screaming with him as Jebb Remi took his time cutting his flesh.*