The Gates

[thegatescomic]

Néna- the letter reads, Cỉlvan-  Tèlçin-

Your soul has been marked for Death this night.

Your reason for death would be: Bandits/Blasphemers/Your Mother However, I offer to you a deal; in exchange for the return of your soul to the mortal realm, you will aid my Cleric in putting an issue in Death right.

In the Deepest Level of Death, something is preventing the lost souls from progressing on toward the afterlife, and causing more trapped souls to become warped and greedy for power. The Levels have become dangerous, somewhat twisted, and the powers placed here are no longer enough to keep the dead down.

If you and your companions can repair this issue, you may return to Life for collection at a later date.

[thegatescomic]

The adventurer awake before the group seems unsurprised by this chain of events- they're sitting in the middle of the group, playing a set of pan pipes. They are a Malisan- a humanoid animal, in this case, a cat. 

Their tune is pleasant, calming, almost, the water globules in the air seem to circle the group of strangers and cast lights across them, dancing.

As they come to, each of the adventurers find that in front of them, there is a letter, marked and sealed with the symbol of Shaul, God of Death.

[thegatescomic]

Anyone familiar with Death would find this place a little disconcerting.

The band of adventurers awaken in a field- or what appears to be a field- a total of four strangers, only one of which is fully conscious.

Waking up, looking around at their surroundings, it seems to be somewhat similar to the surface layer of Aracanus, the place they call home, but... twisted, somehow, with chunks of earth floating high above their heads a ways off, globules of water in something reminiscent of bubbles hover around them. Flames lick from ravines in the earth.

It's a little weird. Definitely.

[thegatescomic]

For a month prior to waking up in the odd, unnatural location that they find themselves, the impromptu adventurers have been receiving some... odd sendings.

A message, pinned to a tree with an arrow fletched in raven feathers, reading simply, COME. A swarm of black birds thick enough to blot out the sun. Hundreds of letters flooding like a whirlwind into their homes, their trees, their caves, wherever they have deigned to rest.

Some chose to ignore these signs. Some made an attempt to follow. All to no avail- none of the party could figure out just what the letters were begging of them.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on their outlook- they no longer need to look.

They have found Death.