Hell is Memory

The gathered crew look at Haskeer, each finding their own strength..their own way to hold off the oppressive weight of memory and sorrow.

None of them had the will or energy to tell the paladin of the thick runnels of blood that ran from his eyes.

Winter stood up, leaning heavily on the white sword. She looked carefully into each of the crew’s eyes, and saw the fragile control that each held against the madness. It was enough. It would have to be.

The paladin with his faith.

The monk with his serenity.

The barbarian with his pain.

The summoner with his love.

Then her eyes fell on Echo, stubbornly moving forward her eyes glazed and darting. Winter crossed to her, leaning the sword back against her shoulder. She gripped the druid by the shoulders and gave her a brisk shake — then a fierce, ringing slap. The sea elf’s eyes widened in anger, the memories beaten back. The snow-haired woman pulled the druid close and whispered something in her ear.

“There. Good enough.” Winter said, turning back. Echo’s eyes were clear with the same fragile control that the others held. “Don’t let go to what you have, not even for an instant. We must find a way out, none of us can hold out for long

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