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[Dratholmyr]

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I had a home, once. In fact, I had family and friends...coupled with a future.

The razors, attached to heavy chains, whip and tear across my body; a body suspended in the eye of some vortex of torment. The macabre jingle of the chains fall as sadistic song upon my ears. I suppose I could say I have hung here for an eternity, but even the notion of eternity commands some reference...some semblance of time.

Time has no place here.

I have bled the fill of a thousand men, and yet I bleed still...

The lash-end razor tears across the side of my face, robbing me of my right eye. I wince, yet do not scream. It is for this reason I am certain that the lords of this damned Void keep me here. I have yet to entertain them with wails of anguish.

I cling to my memories of Malas...a land rich in beauty and bounty. For my portion, she provided all an honest man such as myself could hope for. Fair climate, a rich harvest and a loving family in which to care for it.

Then, for some reason unbeknownst to us all...the Fist of the Gods came crashing down. The land shattered beneath us like clay pottery cast from the table...

...and the lucky ones perished upon the impact.

Many of us spilled into the crevices of Shattered Malas; slipping into the Void that now make up the Isle Expanses of the realm...falling into the grasp of a malevelolent pantheon that drew its power from mortal pain. The Void's stewards held our souls in limbo whilst exacting every concieveable torment known to the mind and felt by the body...we were kept alive to feel pain, nothing more.

I peer upwards...and I see a tear in the oblivion. I see a light fall upon this unholy place. I see many friends, ancient now by my mortal reckoning, peering upwards as I do.

The razor-laden chains lash across us all like a bloodletting cyclone...yet none scream. For we all just beheld a sight that gave us a semblance of hope. One that outweighed the fact that all we had known and cherished was long since gone....we saw light.

And that light gave us hope that perhaps, one day...we might rise from the Void of Torment, that we might rise from the pit of Sosaria's hell, that we might rise from damnation. But as the metallic razor whips spin about me, angled to strike for another century...

...I know that this rise we hope for will not happen today.
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"One persons 'stupid' is another persons 'Huh?'"