thingy

Stone grinds against stone as the massive carved gates of the city shut behind you with a deafening finality. There is no going back. There is only solid stone behind you, and the only way to go is forward. You knew this was your fate. You've been told it since you were old enough to speak, before you could even understand your truly comprehend the nature of your duty. This is your destiny, your glory, your end.

You turn. The cavern before you is immense, the ceiling barely visible from the well illuminated floor you stand on. The torches atop the pillars lining the plaza burn with an arcane flame, bathing the formation of armored figures in front of you with a cold azure light.

Some of them are men. Some of them are women. All of them bear arms. Spears, halberds, bows and the occasional sword. Each of their armors is unique. Some wear armor with detailed and ornate filigree, family sigils and sayings, indicative of their noble birth. Others wear simple steel plate requisitioned for by the royal armory, the only markings crudely inscribed names of lovers, family members, their children etched into the surface.

But who they were before did not matter now. They are now the 73rd Dragon Legion, sworn to delve into the very depths of hell to defend the world above.

Your legion.

Your name is Mira Skalger. You were born to command them. All of them are looking at you,  some solemnly, some with visible anxiety.

What do you say?

[ ] Forward march.
[ ] Utter reassurances.
[ ] Warcry.
[ ] Panic and yell out how you’re all doomed.