Three robed figures stand in front of a rotting body, clothed in a muddy suit, in the center of a dark room. The body itself was sprawled across a wooden table, arms at his sides, with a decaying look of terror frozen on his face, sealed forever in death.
The robed person in the center takes a medallion and puts it on the man's body. The symbol in the center of the medallion began to glow, eventually wrapping the entire body in a faint glow. The first robed individual backs off to their original place and the one to their left takes an ancient looking knife with a curved end to their wrist as they approach the body. Cutting into their flesh, they let the blood drip endlessly into the mouth, making the light glow brighter, returning some color to the man's body. Wrapping their wrist in cloth, they back away as the final robed person walks to the body and takes a small brush covered in a thick, blue liquid. It seems as if it were moving, swimming inside of itself in the bowl it was held in. The figure covers the man's now revealed chest in various moving symbols, after finishing the final symbol, the body is restored; all color has returned to his complexion and all decaying flesh restored to how it looked before death. Then suddenly, his eyes opened. He sat up, ignoring the dancing pant on his chest and looking at the figures.
"Oh, it's you guys."
In the dungeon of Castle Nartow, Shlof lies against the wall, soot covering any revealed skin. His torn clothing covered in blood. He was the medical expert for his brigade in the war. The war itself taking place in various places all over Earth. It had to be fought in secret, or the mortal world would be in chaos. After his so called "betrayal" he was beaten and thrown in the cell for life. He had been here for three years. Every so often, if he could will himself to lift his head, he could see through the sun rise from a barred window. But that didn't happen very often. The magically sealed door opens to Shlof's far right and light poured into the room, making Shlof shut his eyes.
Shlof does nothing.
The man standing in the doorway points his clenched fist at the elf and a long, red, curvy tendril wraps itself around his neck and forcefully brings him to his feet, and he begins to choke. The man draps his arm to his side and the tendril evaporates and Shlof keeps himself leaning on the wall, and rubbing his neck.
"Hu...Huhh...," Shloff mutters out.
"Please, it wasn't that bad," the man starts. "now, let's go."
The man who brought Shlof out of his cell was wearing a black suit, a red tie and a dark brown overcoat to top everything off. He was rather tall, with dark red hair. Shlof had utterly no idea who this man was. The corridor Shlof was being led down was long and well-lit. It had been a long time since he had seen this place, and it looked alien. Simply being up and walking seemed alien.
Once into the main hall of the castle he was imprisoned in for so long, Shlof was immediately greeted by three robed figures, all three of their face's masked in the shadows cast by their hoods. The one in the center points a boney finger at Shlof's chest.
"We need you," they said in a raspy voice.
Shlof takes his eyes off of the person in front of him only to look at the bodies decorating the walls and floors in blood. One body in particular caught his glance, the young daughter of the man who owned the castle's intestines were torn out of her chest, with multiple parts strung across the room. It looked as if there was an explosion from inside of her.
Shlof was happy about this, seeing his tortures and their families lying dead all around him. But he also felt disgusted with himself for feeling like the innocent children deserved to die in such a painful way simply for living in the castle. But Shlof was ready to get out of this place so he looked back at the strange hooded figure and said "let's go."
Abigail Scord looked in the clear blue water of a lake one morning, her dark skin and hair were both drenched in her own sweat. Her sword laid near her feet. She removed her leather gloves and scooped the cool water in her hands and washed her face. This had been the first time in two days she wasn't hiding behind some crudely-made structure or hacking into some poor fool stupid enough to challenge her. She had been fighting in the war ever since she was legally able to.
The young warrior sighed and unstrapped her armor so she could roll up her shirt sleeve and tend to the gash in her arm. She was fighting some general, who had got to the upperhand in the battle for only a moment. Abigail quickly tackled him and shoved her knife into his throat.
Looking at the wound, Abigail began to wince. She cursed herself for not remembering any sort of healing spell. She had no ways of tending to it, and she really didn't want it to get infected. She tears off the sleeve of her shirt and drenches it in water, then wraps it tightly around her wound.
"Gotta get back to the brigade," she says through clenched teeth. She walks back to her armor and puts it on, as an arrow blasts past her face, scathing her forehead.
She finishes clipping it onto herself and dips for her sword, and uses it to deflect another arrow. Her arm began to ache. She had to find who was firing at her, but the nearby brush made it nearly impossible to see any movement within it.
Suddenly, a huge blue flame escaped from the forest's gap, heading straight towards her. The fire seemed to be living, like it had a mind of its own. Abigail jumped into the lake, and began to swim to the bottom. She knew she couldn't last forever down there.
Suddenly, a tentacle like object coming from nowhere visible wrapped around her waist, and began pulling her up, her sword now lying on the floor of the lake.