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Severed Fate Teaser Transcript

Narrator (Amanda Kreitler)

You have been arrested for your crimes, whatever they may be.

The judge glares down at you, "You are hereby sentenced to live the remainder of your short life in Harrowstone which, I hasten to add, is a blessing compared to the extent of your crimes and the suffering of your victims. There you will reside in the misery of your thoughts until such a time as you are drawn, hanged, and quartered. May the dieties have no mercy on your blighted soul!"  Heavy manacles are locked onto your wrists as you feel a burning, searing pain on the back of your neck; you belong to Harrowstone.

Shrieking. You are awoken by shrieking. At first, you are unsure: is that terror? Mirth? Lunacy? Guards frantically rush past your cell. Then, the familiar sound of metal grinding on stone. You sit up. This isn't the usual commotion. Something is happening. Something off. A wild-eyed dwarf appears at the bars of your cell. You know him. You know he belongs here, anyway. Whatever's going on, you're suddenly glad for the bars between you. He sneers at you. Then he holds up a key, and laughs maniacally as he unlocks your cell. Fight or flight takes over. Your pupils dilate. Your pulse ramps up. Time slows. He'll win. Then he walks away and, still laughing, unlocks the next cell, and the next.

You creep out of your cell and down the hall. A throng of prisoners all scurry together in one direction. But toward what? On instinct, you follow. Upon turning the corner, you see the Warden and several other guards under the lift, effectively creating a wall between you and freedom. You are trapped in this dungeon.

Suddenly you are pushed aside by frantic hands. Starved bodies slam against you. Sinewy arms reach past you. You are swept toward the lift. In glimpses through knotting limbs and snotty snarls you see your old pal the dwarf beating some guard's skull against a bit of jutting stone until you can't tell anymore what's bone and what's brick. Beside him, a large, terrifying looking man in shackles calmly inches his hand down another guard's pulsating throat. The shackle cuff shreds his lips to bloody strings. All about you, other inmates commit other, unspeakable acts of violence. Chaos is too gentle a word.


High above, a woman screams. You look up just in time to watch the lift crashing down, flattening guards, prisoners, and your very own legs. If there is pain, you are not aware of it yet. Your legs are certainly broken. There is no doubt. Through the cacophony you heard the bones splinter. The pain is likely on its way, barreling though the shock. If you are lucky, you will faint or die before it finds you.


The damn woman screams again, more frantic, ear-piercing. Prisoners clamor over you and each other, clawing for the lift chains, hoping to climb to freedom. You can't move. The stomping weight of each body causes bone to grind and pop against bone. There is still no pain, though. It's still happening to someone else. There's still hope you'll die before it's you.

A bright blue flash illuminates the hallway. So many scabs and blisters and black teeth are caught in the glare. Men above yell. They sound just as desperate as the men below. Suddenly, you are wet. Your head, your neck, your back. Drenched. The odor of kerosene assaults your nostrils. When the fire comes, so finally does the pain. The broken legs, the stomped ribs, the kicked eye socket, and worst of all, the flames. Nothing could have prepared you for the flames. Your organs spasm, shrinking away from the heat. It overtakes you quickly. Your skin pulls, tears, bubbles, exposing bone to fire. You thrash involuntarily, your muscles spasm, your eyes burst. Soon all that remains is the smell of roasting hair and cooking flesh, the thundering crackle of the fire, and the waning screams of those who burn around you. Your own scream, now but a gurgle in your throat, evaporates as quickly as it appears. Your mind teeters on the edge of insanity, until, finally, you succumb to the torment, and become one with the sweet, beckoning blackness.

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