You Wake Up....

Stirring on your cell's cold bed, you are familiar with the routine by now. The stone and metal cells, engraved on every inch with arcane runes and markings far past your understanding, were a constant sight. You were only removed by the hooded figures when it was time for your 'testing'. You suspected that the markings were anti-magic of some kind. A precaution against what they did to you every few days.    Injections, scars, carving into your flesh. Arcane rituals that bored into your very essence. Excruciating pain, for hours. No amount of begging or fighting would stop it. Only when they were finished were you carried back to your cell—laid in your bed, given water and food.    They never called you by your real name - the name your parents had given you, or you had given yourself. It was always something else, but the same each time.    Leviathan. Gravekeeper. Crucified One. Ashen Seer. Conflagration. Chained. Deacon of Blood. Colossus. Conqueror. Nightborne Apostle. Forsaken. Wayward.    One of these names is now yours - a title you have grown so used to hearing you now respond to it reflexively. The more 'testing' you undergo, the more you feel like this new name. The hooded figures, the Scholars, whisper to you. About your fate, your destiny. A throne that awaits you, a cycle. You don't understand. But you listen anyway. Perhaps within the ominous whispers is the key to your freedom. You no longer know how long you have been here. Snatched from your previous life in the night and imprisoned here. At the whims of the madmen on this mountain. You haven't seen sunlight in weeks.    ----------   They pulled you from your cell that night. Hands firm, and a needle in your arm. Things were hazy. It was too soon for more testing - was that yelling? No. Screaming, in the distance. You could smell smoke. Something was wrong. They were hurrying, dragging you through halls until a huge door opened. The blast of cold air from the mountain beyond stunned you, taking your breath. The snow was bathed in orange and red light. The place you were being held... was on fire. Men on horses and in armor ran through the town's streets, striking down the fleeing people. Blood mingled with snow as it melted. The coppery scent was sharp.    There were others, besides you. Being drug from the building. You couldn't see them very well - the drug they gave you made it hard to get your eyes to focus. Sounds warped around you. You were still being pulled, drug through the snow with unsteady feet. Your robed figure urging you onward. Your breath was harsh in your throat, and unbidden tears cascade down your cheeks from the bite of the cold. Away from the screams, and the fire. The men in armor shouted and gave chase. You didn't know if you wanted them to catch you or not.    You were falling then, thrown off the edge of a cliff by the hooded figures. The world seemed to slow around you. The men in armor caught up above you, killing the men who had brought you this far. Their blood followed you down through the air.    You impact the ground, the snow doing little to break your fall. Other bodies hit the ground around you. The others. You wished you could bring yourself to move. But the drugs carry you away on a wave of darkness. Maybe things would be more clear when you awoke.