Dark Pact Haunts

[Security Badger]

Marcelia's heart pounded like a wild drum as she recounted the terrifying ordeal she had faced. In Perfidus, her steps had led her unwittingly into the clutches of a massive black Balor and its enigmatic human controller. The immense creature, wreathed in darkness, had demanded her servitude long ago in exchange for sparing her life and not torturing her friends.

Trapped between fear and desperation, Marcelia had reluctantly agreed to the sinister pact. The Balor's commands now echoed in her mind or maybe it is her own thought, it all becomes a blur when fear sets in, an inescapable reminder of the debt she owed. Every action weighed heavily on her conscience as she yearned for a chance to break free from the nightmarish grasp that held her.

As she struggled to navigate this twisted path, Marcelia had been tricked into a chilling confrontation. Deceived by the Balor's master, she found herself thrust into battle against a group of mage cultists who served an abomination in Perfidus, the fiend named Malthor. The encounter had been a nightmare incarnate, the cultists magic clashing against her will and her soul, her very life saved by the wit of her friends.

With a heavy heart and a determined spirit, Marcelia embarked on a treacherous journey, seeking a way to sever the chains that bound her to this malevolent fate. Her thoughts were consumed by thoughts of liberation, of finally breaking free from fiendish puppet strings that controlled her every move.

She would see to it that Aaru, her newfound family, wouldn't fall to 'her' past mistakes.

[Security Badger]

Marcelia stood alone in the now desolate cave, a place where shadows held sway and the air felt thick with malevolence. Before her, two immense black balors, their forms towering over her like ancient monoliths, emanated a palpable aura of dread. Their eyes, like twin orbs of smoldering coal, bore into her, hungry and insatiable.

The girl's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a frantic plea for escape. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, misting in the frigid air. Marcelia's eyes darted between the monstrous sentinels searching for any sign of hope or salvation. But the barren cave offered no refuge, no sanctuary.

A voice, guttural and dripping with malice, emanated from the left balor. "So she failed" it hissed, the very syllables slithering through the air like vipers, "Yes, she failed" echoed the one on the right.

Tears welled in Marcelia's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She clenched her trembling fists feeling the heaviness of a silver bracer attached on her arm, summoning the last vestiges of her courage. "I-I was tricked, it was a hoax!" she mustered, her voice quivering yet defiant.

The right balor's eyes glowed with a sinister light, revealing a glint of twisted satisfaction. "Your soul, we watched in amusement when you thought you were free" it crooned, the words vibrating with a macabre melody.

Marcelia's mind raced, grappling with the enormity of her situation. She had heard tales of the power these ancient contracts held over the souls of mortals, tales whispered in fearful tones around campfires and in hushed conversations. She knew that once they claimed a soul, escape was an impossibility...

Though little time was spent, she had felt an eternity passed in the cave. The sorceress walks out wearing no mask, tears in silence running down her face, coloured pale by the fear consuming all vibrance in her body. . .

[Eters]

it was within the remote corners of the Keep of the Dryad that Varric set himself once more to practice with his sword. Its wicked glow, the sole light source in the night lit up his surroundings as he cut the air with vicious swing after another. Unlike the past times however, his mind was barely focused on the task at hand, the practice which serves as a cornerstone to the skills he requires in his day to day life. A sacred moment spent honing one's senses was desecrated by the words Marcelia spoke off during the last Aaru meeting.

Two Balors held her soul, described by a woman who's power he could only fathom as untouchable. With each swing of his sword, he thought about the disparity of power between himself and the creatures of the abyssal depths he was fated to oppose. Every motion was painted with doubt, every blow spiced with trepidation. Yet, as the misty shrouds veiled the man's frame even more, Varric's eyes were gleaming with excitement and hunger ...

For what a feast it would be, to rob a Balor of its own might ...