Stories of the Freed Prisoners of the Cleansed

In that strange place where time seemed not to pass, Valius was always vaguely aware of his brother near him. His thoughts seemed as slow as molasses, and even when he tried to speak, he wasn’t sure if words came out. But he was not entirely insensate, and he did not miss the slow, dawning awareness growing in his brother’s eyes. Even in this cocoon world, where everything was dulled to near-oblivion, the shock blossomed in his mind, as he slowly realized: his brother was free! How could this have happened, trapped in this place? Maybe…just maybe....those crazy bastards who captured him did something to Fausto?

*Vargus, for his part, felt the transition as a fog lifting: not for clarity, exactly, for his thoughts still felt like molasses, and he was barely conscious of his surroundings. But what replaced the fog was somehow more impersonal, less obtrusive, not violating in the same way. The first thing he was consciously aware of was his brother, Valius. Somehow, despite it all, Valius had stuck with him. Valius had kept him from suffering this fate alone, had not hung him out to dry like their father had, leaving them twisting in the wind. His memories came flooding back – two soldiers for hire, more interested in stories and ale than actually seeking employment. Then Fausto, and the Society of the Open Scroll, and then....just a blank. He had wanted to get out, maybe? Fausto was asking too much, but then what happened? He couldn’t remember: maybe it was this strange molasses in his brain. But, his brother was with him, he was not alone, so they’d figure it out, somehow.

Vola snapped to consciousness angry. All she remembered was: she had been betrayed. The thought burned in her. She could not clearly remember anything after telling Agon of her concerns, and then going with Agon to speak with Fausto and learn the truth, but figments of dreams haunted her. Racing across a strange desert and assaulting a palace; toppling an iron crane in Chardon, spilling chalyte ore everywhere; a serene underground cavern filled with a otherworldly light. Her thoughts felt slow in this strange prison, and she wondered if this was some new terror devised by Fausto for her punishment. Had Fausto killed everyone? Had he corrupted all of Chardon to his will? How had she ended up here? Doubts and confusion plagued her barely-functioning brain. But that didn’t matter now. She let her anger wash away the dreams: she had been betrayed.

*Hektor drifted in a semi-conscious state. He had liked the new songs, the deep humming songs that spoke of echoes underground, eternal stone, beauty in strength. They had washed away some of the older songs. He hadn’t liked those older song, the songs of subservience, the thrumming melody that wouldn’t let him think, that ripped away who he was. He couldn’t remember much from before that first song, to be honest. It had hammered on his mind for so long, singing of violence and control, until he didn’t move with conscious thought, he just obeyed the song. Not that he wanted to. He had had no choice. But now he drifted, no song at all, each thought seeming to take an eternity to form. Maybe he was with the gods? But somehow he didn’t think the gods would be this quiet. Sometimes time sped up, and he heard a voice. Was that a halfling sea shanty? It sounded so familiar. How did he know those words? Why did his hands twitch as if pulling on a phantom rope? When the voice went quiet, he tried to let his mind go blank in the silence, and just let memories slowly grow with each drip of a thought in his mind: the smell of salt spray, the feel of wind in his hair, the sway of a ship on the rolling ocean. But he looked forward to that voice, for somehow he knew it brought the promise of his old self.