Author's Note: Rated for mild violence, very mild adult content, and words your mother would never approve of. Review if you like.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pitch Black/Chronicles of Riddick, any of the characters or plot, or any of the merchandise affiliated with it. I'm just a cheap American girl who rented both movies and liked 'em. Oh, and I'm not making any amount of money off of this, just in case you were wondering...

VERY IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ! Some of the information and details regarding the history of characters and the Riddick Universe may not be correct or totally up to par, but I want it that way. So I guess what I'm saying is this is an alternate universe story. So please don't review this story saying "Well, that's not right." or "You should learn a little bit more about the story before writing about it!" or "You have no idea what you're talking about." This is just a story and I'm just a teenage, amatuer author with an imagination.

Summary: Two women unexpectedly find themselves in the world of the Necromongers. But how did they get there? And how do they get home? ...Especially now that the Necromongers are on the brink of a difficult war with a nation strongly resisting their assimilation attempts.

Strange Happenings in a World Gone Mad

Chapter 1:

Dungeons and Dragons Pt. 1

The last thing Morgan remembered was downing another shot of vodka and tripping over some chair that she believed was inappropiately and purposefully placed right near the kitchen table so she would trip over it. But she always thought the world, even inamimate objects, was out to get her when she was drunk.

But now Morgan was as sober as a judge.

Where ever she was, it was dark. Her eyes were open, too. So at first she thought maybe she was blind or some weird, bewildered thought like that.

"I can't see. What's going on?!" whispered a voice next to her. It was Gwen, her best friend. She didn't even realize that Gwen was even with her until she heard her unsteady voice. She sounded just as confused and anxious as Morgan felt.

Now Morgan knew there was something seriously wrong. It was eerily dark and dead silent, except for her and Gwen's breathing.

"Where are we?" Morgan mumbled more to herself than anyone else.

Then, as if on cue, this place, where ever they were, became dimly lit by lights that hung low on the ceiling. Morgan and Gwen shielded their faces for a moment as their eyes readjusted and focused on the alien environment.

Morgan was definitely sober now.

They were in some kind of holding cell, like a jail, but it was damp and had an odd odor to it that made Morgan cringe for a second. So it was more like dungeon, perhaps.

Morgan and Gwen had been sitting up on a flimsy, dirty cot that sat in the far corner of this cell, which was maybe seven square feet or so.

"Get up! Both of you! Now!" a voice barked from just beyond the cell.

Morgan looked through the bars of the jail and saw a man, a guard of some sorts, whipping out a large silver key and unlocking the door. Morgan slowly stood up and did another once-over on the room. It was not some where she'd like to be often, or ever again for that matter.

Morgan cautiously made her way over to the man, who looked quite dangerous and she wasn't about to be rebellious and get herself killed. He was wearing an armored suit and what Morgan later referred to as a 'huge tin helmet.' He brandished a weapon that made him even more menacing. All you could see were his dark blue eyes and a tease of what looked to be tanned, work-worn skin. Behind him there was a long stretch of hallway that seemed to go on until oblivion. It seemed to contain other cells, just as damp, just as foul, just as nauseating. This was a dungeon.

"Get your friend up to." the man growled as he motioned behind Morgan.

Morgan looked behind her to see Gwen still sitting on the cot looking around, puzzled. "Gwen, c'mon. Get up." Morgan delicately ushered her as she took her friend's hand and pulled her up. Gwen stood up hesitantly but then once she was up she walked with Morgan to the holding cell door.

Before even stepping outside the cell Morgan opened her mouth. "Where are we going? As a matter of fact, where the hell are we? And who are you?"

The guard forcefully grabbed Morgan's arm and began walking with her down the long expanse of hallway. Morgan glanced over her shoulder to see where Gwen went and found that another guard with similar dress, who seemingly materialized out of no where, had a firm grasp on Gwen's arm and they were walking no more than three feet behind them.

"What's going on?" Gwen mouthed to Morgan. Morgan shrugged helplessly but then mouthed back to her, "Just keep moving."

When Morgan turned back around she realized that the guard never answered her question. "Hey, there. I asked what exactly is happening here?! What's going on?" she said, a little more agitated and annoyed than frightened.

"Hmm, you got quite the mouth on you. The Lord Marshal will enjoy speaking with you and your friend." he retorted sarcastically.

"What the hell is a Lord Marshal?" Gwen said from behind.

The guard holding onto her arm looked over at her, wide-eyed, in disbelief. Gwen saw the look in his eyes and could almost read his mind. "No, sorry, I don't know what that is. Am I supposed to?"

The guard gave a brief snort and then there was silence among the four.

The guards made a sharp right turn down another hallway and that's when Gwen and Morgan gave their surroundings a closer look.

Morgan was right, this hallway held perhaps hundreds of cells. Less than half were filled though, and the ones that were only held one person. In Morgan's mind, this not only was odd but it was downright disconcerting. Gwen was thinking the same thing. This just wasn't right.

Morgan looked ahead of her and saw a black metal door at the end of the hallway, which was only about thirty or so yards away now.

Gwen finally spoke up. "You never answered any of our--"

Her sentence was cut short by the guard slamming her body up against the bars of a cell. She yelped in pain as her head hit the bars and caught something sharp.

"Gwen!" Morgan tried to turn around and reach out for her but her own personal guard stopped her and tightened his grip enough to stop the circulation in Morgan's arms.

"Shut your fucking mouth right now!" the guard growled into Gwen's ear. She could feel his hot breath on her neck. "I don't want to hear another word out of you or your little friend. If I do, I slit your throats. Are we clear?" Gwen quickly but painfully nodded her head as he pulled her away from the bars and forced her down the hallway once more.

Gwen's head began to throb in pain.

They reached the large black door without another incident, or another word for that matter, and walked through. They went down an array of more hallways, each more grand and elegant than the last. They were like some gothic king's palace.

'Royalty must live here or something.' Morgan thought. And she was assuming this 'royalty' was that Lord Marshal guy, whoever he was.

Morgan wanted to find out what in Heaven's name was happening and why two innocent women were being held up in some kind of weird jail.

But as the four walked into what appeared to be a throne room, she suddenly had more questions than answers.