The Death of the Accused
The end is here. In your bones, in your broken body, you feel it. Your blood drains into the worn floorboards of The Fancy Drake. Your memories cease to whisper to you. In this, you are not alone. Your allies lay near you.
Squeal, the warforged barbarian, seeking his past, pursuing memories he will never unlock.
Baern, the troubled dwarven invoker, caller of angels, who perished in defiance of a wicked deity.
Doren, the cleric, the lawbringer who, when faced with lawlessness, revolted. He died as he lived: with justice in his heart.
Torath, the paladin of The Four, student of the Isles, armored champion, felled by the cold dagger of his god.
Thorn, the many-faced assassin, the keeper of shadows, the seeker of vengeance, whose face reverts to the ghastly white pallor she hid so often from the world. She falls slowly into the darkness that once fueled her power.
As your eyes close, as your final moments slip away, you hear a metallic clatter. The gemstone slips to the floor.
"This is the end for you. I'm happy that you got this far, and perhaps we will meet again. This world is mine, now. While you lay in death, know this: you could never have beaten me. This was my greatest trick. Your end is here, but a new world is just beginning. Goodbye."
Your body passes, and your soul vacates your battered body. You lie awake for centuries, blind, silent, and bound in shadow. Time flows on. You hear the cries of war. The shadows deepen. The world goes quiet.
Millennia pass.
You feel the heat of a woman's breath on your cheek.
"Awaken. You are needed."