Kane
As you slip down, into the body, you feel only the slightest of resistances. Then you are caught in the stream of memories. A street, a crowd - a wallet and a chase. Nights spent under bridges and trees. Shackles, picked open. A distant city that reminds you of home. A mountain pass - an ambush. A knife, and the sensation of drowning, though there is no water in sight.
Then they slow, and stop, as you gain control. A library of memories, locked away so that they do not overwhelm.
You sit up, dislodging the arm of an old man, and breath with a gurgle. The gurgle fades to a wheeze, and you cough, spraying blood. As you do so you see that the stab wound is slowly sealing.
Embrus
You are plunged into darkness for a moment as you enter, before the room wims back into view. However, a flickering light casts shadows that are not there . A puppet theater showing a merchant and his wares, and an exotic customer from far off lands. A sleepless night, a fresh cooked breakfast, and a mournful goodbye. A caravan, slipping into a mountain valley. A night time horse ride, and a collapse in the sunset. The agony of poison and betrayal. And the light dies, and the shadows fade.
All is cold for a moment before you rise, a deep ache fading from your bones.
Regina
You push your way into the new body, to be greeted by a familiar sight - a balcony view over a town - though not one you recognise. Mountains loom in the distance, and suddenly the town is burning. You scream and a shadow looms to your side, but it is not a guard. In a flash you are being dragged behind a horse, put on a stage before a cluster of bandits. A man comes to claim you and you remember the sensation of your slap, and a rope, and a brief, brief flight.
Then you land, far far away, in the pit. A minute passes before you remember to breathe, though you felt no discomfort.
Ayzebel
Surrounded by a mass of foes, you twist and stab. But for every blow you deal they strike back. And with each blow, a flash. A bountiful hunt - an aurochs. The tribe’s home, ashes. An innkeep, uneasy, being questioned. And then a long ride. Bandits - dead. Robbers - fled. A slave market - a daughter on stage. Their blood. Stabbing, like needles in your back. Your blood.
And the mass lay dead. You heave yourself to your feet, and the body rises too. There is an itch, and a slight clatter, as arrow shafts horse themselves out of your back, to land on the bodies below.
Felicity
Visions drift by, almost lazily. An inn, a weather worn sign. Father serving mead and mother carving meat. A young mercenary with a charming face. An argument, your father ed faced. A midnight elope, wind blowing in your hair. A militant camp, and a sudden shift of attitude. Being beaten, shared. A hard march into the mountains, rations stretched thin. Rations running out, and a knife to the throat.
And the memories blow by, leaving only the pit. Your throat seals shut without a sound.
Kanders
A spectre of a map, ghost strewn across the path. The first an inn, an old man whispering tales of ancient ruins to a hunter. Then a bedside, a mother passing away. A debtor, bare palm held out. Next a trek, a long hike into the peaks nearby, further than ever before. Finally the cold. Strange shapes glimpsed through fog on the horizon - but the cold. The map slips from your fingers, into the gulley, as warmth seeps back into your bones and your eyes open wide, to reveal the pit.
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All
You make your way to the clear areas of the floor, mindful of the treacherous footing, and unsure where else to go, follow the cleared paths to the door. It stands twice as tall as any man, two great oaken sheets riveted with iron. It is locked from your side - the inside - with a solid iron bolt. Around the door stand a handful of figures - the other souls - silhouetted in the dim light.