Young Writers Society

It was built thousands of years ago, crafted from old stone strong as the earth itself. Vast walls reach higher than the eye can see - to attempt to fly over it would be folly, no matter how ancient or powerful you are. The ground is packed dirt and the air is stale, having not been touched for many, many years.

Why are you here? Simple: to repent for your sins, whatever that may be. Perhaps you aren't evil, you simply made a mistake; maybe you're the worst villain your world has seen in millennia. Either way, it's evident you won't make it out of here alone, for monsters lurk around every corner and they are dangerous even to you. Like it or not, there is safety in numbers, and to traverse this space alone means certain death.

You don't know how you got here. You just woke up one day. Why you're here is simply something you know. You find your eyes opening among a few other souls - or, at the very least, a few other beings, soulless or otherwise...





Her eyes shot open and she leapt to her feet, ready for combat - the last thing she remembers is being pinned by that damn German. Traitor. As she realizes she's no longer in danger, she begins to calm down, taking in her surroundings: the dank stone walls, the hard earth below her, the looming shadow of the abyssal darkness far above, enhancing the feeling of eternity in this prison.

Everything ached. It had been a long time since he had hurt this badly, but he could survive. His head felt slightly off balance as he got to his feet; he vaguely remembered being hit by a pipe by one of the men he had been tracking down. Rude. The trauma was probably the reason for his lack of memory, but it didn't explain how he had suddenly ended up here. He absentmindedly allowed the wound to regenerate. It took far longer than it should have, but he was too distracted to notice.

Where was here, anyways? He studied the area around him. Tall, towering walls barricaded him in. Even if he could remember the words to a flight spell, he'd never be able to get over them. He could barely make out the sky above him - the walls took up the majority of his vision. Had he been brought to this strange place after being knocked unconscious?

He tapped his foot against the ground. A habit of his that he had never been able to break, no matter how hard he had tried. It had never been a concern in recent years, but he didn't know what was out here.

He heard someone move around the corner. Ready to cast a spell at a moment's notice, he approached the source.

She spins as she hears footsteps approaching. There's a very colorful figure approaching, but she can't quite make out much more until her eyes adjust more fully; last thing she remembers is being on a roof in the middle of a city on a sunny day so she's still pretty blind here.

"Look, I've had a very long day, so, please, if you're planning on attacking or killing me, just get it over with and let's skip the banter."

It was interesting that her first reaction would be to say something like that when he went to great pains to ensure that he looked far from threatening; it seemed like he was dealing with someone who was used to the more dangerous side of the world.

His lips curled up into a smile. "It's funny that you should say that - I've also had a long day." He thrust his hand out. He'd be wary of her, but there was no need to avoid someone when he had just met them. He adopted an innocent air, widened his grin and said, "The name's Oz! Short for Oswald, but it's a dreadful first name and I hate to use it."

She eyes his hand, lowering her daggers.

"I swear, if I shake your hand and then you stab me or something, I'm going to be a very pissed woman," she tells him, sheathing the pale white dagger and shaking his hand. "Most just call me Viper."

Keeping the grin on his face, he wondered if she had noticed the dagger he had hidden underneath his coat, or if the comment had simply been one that she usually said. "I wouldn't dream of stabbing you," he promised, an aghast look momentarily passing on his face. "And I'm a little hurt that you think I would. But, anyways, nice to meet you! Do you have any idea where we are? I just woke up and I can't figure out how I got here."

"No idea," she answers. "All I can say is that it's dark and big and smells like mildew."

He glanced around the area they were in. That part was at least true; her observations mirrored his own. "To that I can agree," Oz said. "Well, if we don't know where here is, maybe we can try figuring out what happened before we got here and go from there."

"Seems reasonable to me," she replies, sheathing her second dagger and beginning to walk. He may notice she's got a hand to her abdomen and is limping slightly, though the look on her face betrays little.

He fell into step beside her, studying the injury in a hopefully unnoticeable way. Earth had never seen a sorcerer as skilled as he was and would never see another with quite the same level of talent. It wasn't his ego; it was a matter of time spent dedicated to the craft. If she needed to be healed, he could heal her. It was just a matter of determining if he wanted to help her.

"Hm..." he began, trying to figure out what was the best place to start. "Well, I was looking for an immortal man named Matthew. Matt, I think. I tracked down a group of people that had seen him when he last died, but I'm starting to guess that they were just a little shady. One hit me in the head with a pipe after I tried talking to them in their warehouse. Next thing I know, I'm here with a killer headache!"

"Matthew, huh? He got a last name?" Immortal. Demonic? Quite possible. The only immortals she knows of are, except for the angels, of course, but that is far less common.

He grinned. "He should. I just wasn't able to-" Pausing, he cast an almost nervous glance in her direction. Compared to his previous expressions, this one was genuine. "-to get the hotel to tell me. I didn't want to do it, but it was the only way I could get information on him! I have to meet this guy. He's important."

"How did you ask?" she inquires, eyebrow raised. The guy obviously wasn't used to using force if he couldn't convince the hotel staff to talk.

He studied her for a moment, then drew himself up.

"With a little spell or two~ I'm a sorcerer. Magic is second nature, so I did what I do best to get the information I needed." He gave a sheepish smile. "I just have some issues with using it to manipulate others. Memory spells, persuasion charms - I've read all sorts of theories that suggest they do horrible stuff to the normal brain. I used to get the basics and went from there; I've been hopping from lead to lead ever since."

"Was punching just not doing the job?" she inquires, eyebrow raised.