A few hours passed, and neither of the two had moved an inch. Roy fell asleep not too long ago. Morrow had a somber expression on his face as he silently stared at the door, awaiting his fate. Just a few moments later he heard a loud banging noise on his front door.
That must be them…
Morrow quickly grabbed his cane and got up to answer it, but before he could get close enough to remove the rope, the flimsy door handle was destroyed from the other side as the door was violently kicked open. Despite this loud disruption, Roy continued to sleep soundlessly, as if nothing had happened.
Immediately, two men stormed inside, scanning the small shack. These were the Enforcers.
Enforcers are an elite group of knights who work under The Guard with the sole purpose of apprehending criminals. These criminals would then be imprisoned until the time came where they would be marked by a terrible curse and exiled from society.
The two Enforcers were adorned with heavy steel-plate armor from head to toe, leaving no gaps anywhere except for their eyes. A branching silver pattern was etched across the chest-piece which extended up to the shoulders where you could see the emblem of an absurdly large silver great-sword pointing upward. One of the Enforcers wielded a heavy two-handed halberd that he barely managed to fit into the shack, while the other wielded a light one-handed straightsword.
Without a moment's hesitation, the man wielding the straight sword unsealed a scroll he was holding in his left hand and spoke:
"This is… Morrow… uh… just Morrow, correct?"
Usually, a person's last name would simply be the name of the clan they're from, however, Morrow isn't a part of any clan. There were only two ways to be in a clan: be born into one, or get recruited by one. Most people, even many lower-class citizens are affiliated with one, whether it was a weak, unnotable clan, or one of royal lineage.
Staring at the two powerful soldiers, Morrow weakly nodded.
"Good."
The man straightened himself as he raised his voice, speaking in a loud, clear tone.
"In the name of the Monarch, we have come to extract justice for the crimes you have committed. Morrow… of no clan, in all the years you have lived in The Depths, you've done nothing of contribution for its people - you are useless. The people of our kingdom do not need you here. However, do not fret, for we have come to offer you grace - a path of redemption from this pointless existence that you live. We will take you to a Caster of royal lineage and they will weave a spell onto you. You will be marked as a Wretch, and this curse will be stuck with you for as long as you live underground, only upon reaching the surface will the curse be rendered null. While this curse will bring great misfortune, you will still be allowed to venture into the world, make your way to the surface of this horrific abyss, and hopefully, live a new life."
Live a new life…?
Morrow wanted to laugh at the absurdity of what the man had said, but he didn't. The man painted Morrow's exile in such a good light - making it seem as if it's a second chance at living instead of what it actually was: death row.
The Depths is a desolate place that resides at the bottom of a vast, seemingly endless abyss. While The Depths itself is already a horrible place if you're a lower class citizen, it pales in comparison to what lies beyond the barrier which separates it from the outside world. It's common knowledge that no human born in The Depths, let alone a Wretch, has ever made it to the surface alive. Such a task might as well be impossible, even for a party full of experienced Casters.
After a few moments of silence, the same soldier spoke once again.
"Now that you have been informed of your fate, we will bring you to a waiting room for you to await your marking."
***
Morrow silently sat in a corner, his hands tied to the wall by a thick steel chain which gripped tightly onto his weak wrists. To his side were four more chains hanging from the bleak cellar wall, however only two of them were attached to someone.
One of the soon-to-be wretches was a middle aged man who did nothing but cautiously look back and forth the entire time. The man was wearing a white and gold robe made from an expensive material that Morrow had never laid his eyes on before. This made it obvious that the man wasn't here because he was deemed 'useless' - it was probably some other major crime. His trembling wrists made an annoying rattling sound with the chains which echoed across the tiny room. The man was scared to death - he was probably thinking of the horrible fate that awaits him upon getting exiled.
The other was a young girl, who seemed to be the same age as Morrow. She had unhealthily pale skin, slightly frizzy jet-black hair that barely reached her shoulders, and was wearing cheap black rags that resembled a cloak. The girl was about as tall as Morrow, and was almost as scrawny as him too. Impatiently, she tapped her fingers against the floor with a somewhat worried expression on her face, albeit, nowhere near as worried as the man.
Morrow had been stuck in this 'waiting room' for the past 30 minutes, without any of the others saying a single word. However, this wasn't so bad for him. With how busy he constantly was, Morrow never really had any time to just do… nothing. It made the wait for his impending doom somewhat relaxing.
After a few more minutes of complete quiet, the silence was broken:
"Five of us… There should be five of us. Why aren't there five of us?"
Both Morrow and the girl turned towards the man as he continued.
"I'm not sure if you low-lives are aware, but when getting sent on this accursed expedition there should be five people. Yet there's only three of us? Do they really expect me to survive with only you two? Do they expect me to survive beyond the barrier in these conditions? This is fucking ridiculous! Crazy! Unfeasible! To pile me with such garbage for a crime I committed 3 years ago! Me? A truly accomplished man!"
Now that he mentions it… there are only three of us. I guess they just couldn't get two other 'criminals' in time. I doubt it would change much, anyways.Unless one of us was a Caster, it would be impossible to survive out there.
The man slammed his fist into the ground as the two stared at him in silence.
"Damnit… damnit… damnit! I'm going to get teared apart by some monstrosity, aren't I? Brutally dismembered and eaten! Damn!"
The man's voice came to an abrupt stop as his wide, hopeless eyes stared at the ground in front of him. He moved his head up, looked side to side, and then looked down again.
Some minutes passed before the man spoke once more, this time his voice was weak and quiet.
"Do any of you two, by some miracle, happen to be Casters?"
Morrow spoke softly, "I am not."
The girl simply shook her head.
"Ah… I see. That's all I wanted to know"
The man then stood up, straightened himself, and turned around to face the hard stone wall.
Slowly, he tilted his head backwards as his eyes closed. He made a forward moving motion with his head, but hesitated, stopping halfway through.
"Shit! I can't do it…"
He then collapsed to the floor, sweat pouring down his head.
Some seconds later the sound of keys jingling could be heard from the other side of the door. Then, it opened, revealing an Enforcer who immediately barked at the three:
"Callus Felt! Which one of you is it?"
The man deeply exhaled as he eyed the Enforcer.
"Me, damnit."
The Enforcer briskly unshackled Callus's chains and shoved him toward the doorway, leading him to the ritual grounds.
Silence then enveloped the room.
"Great misfortune…"
The Enforcers words from earlier echoed in Morrow's mind.
I've heard others talk of the unparalleled misfortune that Wretches bring… I wonder if they mean it literally. Once I get marked will the spell make me incredibly unlucky?
Or is it just some superstition? People have always looked down upon Wretches for being either incompetent or pure evil, so being labeled as a bad omen would make sense.
Morrow softly sighed. A dreadful feeling plagued his mind as he thought of what was to come. What frightened him the most was the mystery behind the mark itself. He had no idea what it would do to him. All he knew is that no Wretch had ever survived and returned to The Depths.
After a few more minutes of thought, Morrow turned to face the girl, who also seemed lost in thought.
"Do you think we have any chance of surviving out there?"
The girl looked into Morrow's eyes, blinked, then shook her head.
I don't really know what I expected from that.
"...at least we won't be dying alone. What's your name?"
As if contemplating whether she should respond or not, the girl stared at Morrow for a few seconds. Then, in a calm voice, she spoke:
"My name is Sere."
With that, the sound of the lock jingling from the other side of the cellar door could be heard once again as the door slowly opened.
The Enforcers voice resounded clear as day:
"Morrow!"
It was time for the ritual.