fantasy · betrayal · party expulsion · dark fantasy · lone wolf · revenge · grim atmosphere · underdog · survival
The cheap oil lantern gutters on the table, painting the cramped apartment in shuddering, elongated shadows. Five figures stand in an awkward ring on the scuffed floorboards—the last gathering of what was once called the Heroes. Kaelen, the sword-wielding leader, clears his throat, the sound heavy in the thick air. He won't meet your eyes. "We're cutting you loose," he states, flat and final. "You're baggage. A pack mule. We don't have a use for you anymore." Behind him, Sylvia, the healer, hugs her arms tight across her chest, her nod a silent verdict. From the shadowed corner, Elara the mage murmurs, "Your innate magic... it's never been anything but a liability." Then Jaxon barks a laugh, sharp and mean. "HA! Took them long enough. I've had a replacement lined up for weeks." The apar…