reproze

The pit froths, bubbles, churns. Always. Yet its slick, oil-like surface appears flat, featureless. Guards stand on the raised platform that circle it, ancient armor gleaming in dim, subterranean light. They have two duties. The first is to ensure nothing escapes. For three hundred years they have done so without fail, neutralizing the horrors that cross over. It has been some time since the last Incursion and so the Procession continues uninterrupted. Those worthy are led into the chamber. They walk to the edge of the platform and shed their robe, making themselves modest for perhaps the last time. Then they descend the steps. The pit's bulk shifts when their feet touch the raw earth around it. It seems to know, seems to anticipate. The subjects walk forward. Some fall in, gone in an instant. Some descend, as though a ramp exists below the void of its surface. Others find the pit creeping up their legs, dragging them in. There is no set time for the ritual. There is only one rule and it is the second duty of the Bearers. If more than one returns, all must be destroyed. The lucky who emerge whole, without Shadows or other signs of corruption, re-enter the world transformed. Their ills healed, their bodies made stronger than possible, their minds honed sharper than even the Legendary Blades. A single Returned is worth the might of dozens and many are worth that of hundreds. 

 Their survival grants them service at the edges of the God King's galaxy spanning war apparatus. A great and dangerous honor, for the galaxy is vast and full of darkness.