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[Twinwolf]

Catherine nodded. Temporary amnesia, then. Hopefully the key word would be temporary.

"If we are to be provided weapons, a tome. Some variety of fire is preferable. ...Also, a notebook and writing tool would be appreciated, but that is not quite as urgent a concern." Logically speaking, she should be confirming whether this man was in fact the "good guy" before she agreed to help.. But at the moment she was short options and he was asking for her help anyway.

[IamanElfCollaborator]

"I request a spear, then.....and perhaps a steed. Something that flies."
The feelings of reins beneath Branwen's fingers and the wind beneath her feet felt....familiar. Not that she could remember where from, but presumably it was something she'd done before if it had felt right.

[SeriousConcentrate]

Vahn woke slowly, fighting through the fog as a drowning man might struggle to reach the air. When he awoke, he felt instinctively that something... no, everything, was wrong. His hand reached out for... something by instinct, to help him get up. What was it again?

He lay there for awhile, eyes barely open, and listened to the chatter. Two women, two men. Why were there people around him? That was something else that felt wrong, but he didn't know why. With a tired grunt, he managed to force himself into a sitting position, and then swung his legs off of the bed.

He was dressed in a traveling cloak and leather armor. From that he could deduce that he hadn't intended to be sleeping. And one of the men talked about needing warriors before he cut himself off. Vahn reflected on that. Why him? Was it his name? He felt his name was important, but he could also feel death in his bones; he didn't remember much, but he knew he was old. Would he be of any use?

"...A staff, or a club. Something hard. And dark magic that weakens my enemies. I can still use that."

'Still'? Why had he said that? But he felt that that was correct. His magic had been getting weaker as he aged, and now it was all but gone. But his hand to hand experience was still ingrained in his old muscles. He just needed a chance to stretch them out.

"Brannon... Vahn Brannon."

And perhaps he would also remember, eventually, why his voice sounded like someone dragging a heavy coffin over gravel and broken glass. He touched his throat; perhaps the heavy scar tissue there had something to do with it.

[Dwarmin]

Did anyone have a stranger journey than the self proclaimed Artist of the Abyss? In a place where heroes where more shade and memory than true substance, where flesh had given way to souls, where the endtime darkness sapped the very sun from the sky and the Gods rotted on their thrones...a heroine was summoned to the land of the still-living, still-breathing, not yet ruined. As if gravity had suddenly upended, or the seasons turned from winter to summer in a handspan.

Iris had always dreamed of recreating a world in her own image, one with color and life-though in this central paradox of our story, the moment Iris found this living world, she could not remember that she ever had desired it so.

...

The woman in the corner took several minutes merely breathing in and out steadily. She seemed confused and lost, much more so than her companions. Every motion seems hesitant, like a child learning to walk. Iris stays very still.

"...Iris...my name is Iris..." She says to herself, quietly-repeating it several times.

...

Eventually, she reflected on the conversation being played out.

"...Right. Now something feels familiar about all this." Iris said to herself, steadying her stance.

She somehow knew this-only through the trial of combat would she find what she had lost. She clung to this feeling, as it was comforting...about maintaining a purpose when you had nothing else...and being the last ones alive, bailing water from a sinking ship...the mans desperation was clear to her as...something she couldn't recall. But it was different as well, in a way she also couldn't fathom. For now she would let that purpose the guide her. There was a sense she had so much left to do...and something grand, yet to be done. Of course-some mysteries, like some knots, were best cut through directly.

He had chosen this warrior well.

...

"I will require...well, I forget. I performed...magic. But I hated...it was so much more...I was...I am an artist?" Iris asked the man who had summoned her. She began to make a swishing motion with her left hand, as if holding a short stick of some sort. "Since I am reduced to farcical pantomime, what is this? I am not like the blonde girl. I need certain additional things to do my...work. I performed...a kind of investiture." Her tone grew cold and demanding, as this vital piece of her identity seemingly eluded memory.

[Praefectus Screptum]

"A few weeks? Good, for a moment I thought this siege truly was already knocking on the gates of this place...This will give us enough time to at least prepare a proper formation."
"...And hopefully enough time for us to get some of our memories back too."
Otiros' attention turned to the other stranger speaking up, and as he openly said his name, perhaps it was time for him to do the same.
"Otiros Dryadson."

[Dwarmin]

Iris didn't know what to think of the man in the garish purple armor, like a walking talking bruise.

But the older man seemed familiar somehow. Not in a sense she knew him (though she couldn't know she didn't know that), but in a sense he would have fit in where she had been...not that she could remember she had come from....

Her tone thawed something as she turned to them, though it was still decidedly frigid.

"...Pleasure to make your acquaintances, Mr. Dryadson...Mr. Brannon. My name is Iris Baker. "

On instinct, without conscious thought, she performed a perfect curtsy, bowing and bending her skirt. Very formal. She had no idea why she had done that. She fault vaguely ridiculous.

[Twinwolf]

Catherine raised an eyebrow at the new girl speaking, feeling a sense of curiosity that felt familiar. She wasn't sure what she did for a living, but it would seem that it involved questions. She didn't know any practice besides healing magic that needed something besides a tome. Of course, she could well have forgotten.

"Oh? Yes, names, of course. I am Catherine Hirana. I'd say it's a pleasure, but in these circumstances..."

[SeriousConcentrate]

Seeing her formal introduction, Vahn attempted a bow in response. It wasn't the best - he wasn't used to them and his body didn't like the sudden movement besides - but he felt it was good enough for politeness's sake.

"A pleasure, miss Baker. Miss Hirana and Sir Dryadson as well."

[Dwarmin]

Catherine raised an eyebrow at the new girl speaking, feeling a sense of curiosity that felt familiar. She wasn't sure what she did for a living, but it would seem that it involved questions. She didn't know any practice besides healing magic that needed something besides a tome. Of course, she could well have forgotten.

"Oh? Yes, names, of course. I am Catherine Hirana. I'd say it's a pleasure, but in these circumstances..."

Iris brightened as the young blonde woman spoke up. There was something about her that made her stand out to the artists eye. Hair like...a fine morning in summer. Just like the Purple Paladin and the Greying Geezer, Iris briefly reflected on how her mind seemed to be picking up primary colors first before anything else. This was a clue...she conferred with the Summer Sorceress as she pondered this.

"...oh yes, things are quite horrible, and are bound to grow worse." She admitted mercilessly, her strange teal eyes flashing with mischief. "An endless siege, no one left but us to guard the gates, impossible odds against an unknown foe and all that. I wonder if we're the first group he's brought here? Or the last? So many questions...

If this was a play I'd be preparing for tears in the final act...but somehow, I don't feel at all discouraged. Maybe I've been through worse? Who can say..."

Seeing her formal introduction, Vahn attempted a bow in response. It wasn't the best - he wasn't used to them and his body didn't like the sudden movement besides - but he felt it was good enough for politeness's sake.

"A pleasure, miss Baker. Miss Hirana and Sir Dryadson as well."

"...A man of culture?" It was hard to say if she was defining him or asking him to define himself.

[Praefectus Screptum]

Otiros responded to the polite greeting by closing a hand into a fist and slamming it against his chest plate to salute.
"It is a pleasure to meet you all. It seems that we will be working together under these specific circumstances."
The armored figure took a moment to examine the new strangers, both appearance and behavior considering at least some of them were now awake and speaking.
"Do not admit defeat before the battle even starts. We do have enough time to prepare against this unknown foe, and while I am not sure how capable each one of you are-I would assume strong enough to give this stranger a reason to bring us here."
"For now gearing up and learning more about this force we are going up against are priorities. If he is willing to share us some information about what we are going to face, that is."

[IamanElfCollaborator]

”I may as well also introduce myself, if we are to fight an unknown foe together. I am Branwen, daughter of....Pwyll. _{Another thing I know and yet cannot remember the significance of.}"

[SeriousConcentrate]

"...A man of culture?"

"No... I don't think that would ever have been used to describe me. I can't remember anything too well, but I have the feeling I have a lot of blood on my hands. And I was an angry youth. I'm almost certain of that; I can feel rage tied into what memories of fighting I retain. _{Blood and fury... what kind of man am I?}"

He turned to Otiros.

"I haven't admitted anything. I'm still figuring things out. Miss Branwen."

He gave her a polite nod, still lost in his own thoughts.

[Praefectus Screptum]

"That comment was specifically directed to Miss Baker, as she is talking about things growing worse. I am well aware you have not admitted anything."
Otiros crossed his arms and shook his head a few times.
"Still. It is unfortunate that we cannot remember about our lives, disturbing even."

[Furtuka]

Julius’ eyes snapped open to the tune of throbbing pain. It coursed through his chest radiating outward, bringing feelings of absolute coldness with it. It chilled him to the bone and kept Julius frozen, not even able to  move, or cry for help, or even observe his surroundings.

And then suddenly... it stopped. The pain vanished in the blink of an eye, so suddenly that it would make one wonder if it was ever really there. Confused and alarmed, Julius attempted to push himself up into a sitting position, but for whatever reason his mind felt slow to start, and his body with it, and it took him a couple tries before he managed to avoid sliding back down onto the downy bed.

Looking down, he could see that he was wearing a strange outfit, made of fine materials that for some reason felt... unfamiliar to him? It seemed like it didn’t quite fit either, the green shirt pulling tight around his neck and shoulders, while the jacket may have been just slightly too large. There were bigger concerns at hand however, and Julius turned his attention to the others in the room, silently observing while he caught his breath. And the more they spoke... the more he could feel something else blooming in his chest. He didn’t quite know why, but with every word he could feel his heart racing in exhilaration.

“A gathering of heroes. I... I need to... I’ll gladly join you! Give me a weapon... anything will do. Something like this... this... quest. I know not why but I can feel my heart sing for it. I think.”

He sat up straighter and pulled himself off the bed. With his first step he stumbled, nearly tumbling right onto the floor before catching himself, and as he stood he shook his head to clear his thoughts.

”Apologies, I’m getting ahead of myself. My name... my name is Julius Orto. It is an honor to be selected for such an auspicious gathering.” He said, giving a nod to each of the others in the room.

[Dwarmin]

He sat up straighter and pulled himself off the bed. With his first step he stumbled, nearly tumbling right onto the floor before catching himself, and as he stood he shook his head to clear his thoughts.

”Apologies, I’m getting ahead of myself. My name... my name is Julius Orto. It is an honor to be selected for such an auspicious gathering.” He said, giving a nod to each of the others in the room.

When seeing him stumble, Iris had made the preemptive protective movements that indicated she would have caught him had he fallen all the way.

"Yes, some of us have had a bit more trouble waking up than others...quite an excitable young man. Good morning, Mr. Orto."

"Still. It is unfortunate that we cannot remember about our lives, disturbing even."

"Strip a blade of hilt, basket and ornamentation. Is it still sharp enough to cut?

The working may intentionally shield certain parts of our memories to make us more...pliable. I don't mean some sort of enchantment, just a way to let us get accustomed to this world without things distracting us. Maybe Mr. Vahn over there has a Kingdom he's in charge of, for example, and now his sons are squabbling over the throne with swords. Maybe I own a little bakery in some corner of reality, and the oven is growing cold. Over time our memories return, but we are then committed to this place. And our sense of commitment-of duty-I feel is strongly bound to each of us. Now we can concentrate on what really matters. Defending everything...or destroying what needs must.

An unfortunate concept.

Maybe the magic chose us-or we were chosen-because once you took away everything else...we are duty bound, and the most efficient killers that could be found in all the worlds. Well, at least I would hope I am...I feel I am always seeking perfection."