SirDerpingtonIV
A Campfire at the End of Time
The cell.
That is all you've known for all this time. You cannot remember how many days or weeks or years you have been here, but still, here you are. The cell. All the markings you have made on the walls, when the sun went down and rose the next day, all those markings to keep your sanity, you cannot read them anymore, as they have all weathered away, the very walls decaying around you. The only company for your misery in this cell of yours, is the wet, dark hallway outside, filled with the sound of hopeless undead, the ones who have already gone Hallow, endlessly crying out for the things they cannot remember they've lost. You don't know if anyone else is still sane here, for the sane ones have kept quiet, too wrapped up in fleeting memories to pay attention. However, there is one thing that binds all of you together. The curse. The Undead Curse. In life, all those years ago, they found the DarkSign upon you, like a brand, an accursed brand. The Way Of White hunted you down, whether you tried to flee or not. You were chained like cattle, stripped of all weapons and armor, and dragged off to the Undead Asylum, to await the end of the world.
However, you do not have to wait for much longer. One day, a rather cold morning, noises can be heard above. All cells have an open window on the cieling, and you look up as a shadow falls across it. The corpse of a hallow falls through, and on it, a pair of keys. You look up, just in time to spot a metal visor closing, and a knight climbing to his feet, before walking away. You pull yourself to your feet, taking the keys and your destiny, in your hands.<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2015_03/upload_2015-3-29_22-25-28.png.499e5ae50af21395415aa13c1f51d9db.png" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="47090" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2015_03/upload_2015-3-29_22-25-28.png.499e5ae50af21395415aa13c1f51d9db.png" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>
