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The Great Hippo's picture
Joined: 2005-07-28

"It's over, DeVorn." The man's voice was like an ice-sheathed knife - cold and to the point.

His face was cloaked by a mask - a mask wrought of iron, baring an expressionless facade of apathy chiseled in the style of a classic Greek Thespian, the rest of him sheathed in ancient armor and strips of creaking leather. "Your luck and charm has run out."

They were in the sewers, DeVorn realized - surrounded by mildew and stone and the near-tangible odor of human waste. Around him, there were men - dark-eyed grim-faced men who wore crimson steel. There were far too many of them to fight, and they were far too pissed to trick.

"The ring for your life."


There is a place called Elysium.

It is a place where pain and hardship are nothing but fairy-tales, and where trees grow heavy with fruit and the air is always ripe with the sweet fragrances of spring. The bite of old age and the sting of regret have no teeth, here, where the mighty River Oceanus flows constant and neither Winter nor Fall ever take hold of the land.

It is a resting place - for heroes and commoners alike, who have paid their debts and fought their battles and now wish only to exist in a world filled with nothing but tranquil reflection and the natural beauty of nature unchained.

Once, a woman asked him to stay with her there. He said he would think about it, and she smiled - and gave him something.

"Consider this a loan," She told him as she handed him her ring. "You have to bring it back to me."

"How will I come back here?" He asked.

"Use the ring," She told him. "When you are done seeing the rest of the world, put it on and wish for the place you want to go the most." And then she kissed him.


"The ring," That iron-faced tyrant repeated.

The crimson-armored men drew closer, and DeVorn fought through his haze of confusion and pain. For a moment, he remembered the distant shores of Elysium - the way the water shined in the sun, the way the air tasted, the vivid greens and blues - but he knew if he went there now, he'd bring them with him. He moved his hand to touch the ring in his pocket, sliding it over his finger. Where could he go? Where could he take them?

Their pikes and halbreds were leveled upon him, and DeVorn knew the next few moments would likely be his last. "You have no more tricks," the masked man spoke.

DeVorn grinned as he began to remember another place he had once had the displeasure of visiting. The soldiers grew uneasy as the stench of decay and filth began to shift, replaced with the strangely unnatural aroma of brimstone and acid. The coolness of the sewer was becoming more noticable, now, as a pervasive chill began to flow through the room. This was going to be a tricky one to get out of, he knew, but DeVorn had an idea - and when DeVorn had an idea, bad things often happened.

"I think I might have one more up my sleeve."


There is a place called Carceri.

It is decisively unpleasant.

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