Left to rot in a forgotten cell, with the dessicated husks of the undead to keep me company. Like them, I wavered between life and death; the boundaries of my prison were well-known to me.
I waited for the End. My illness was stark proof that time was guttering out, like a flame fitfully sizzling before drowning in wax at the dawn.
Then, an agonized scream of metal and stone and a face hidden behind armor dispelled my melancholy.
Furtively, he beckoned, So, up I climbed.
I picked my way among the heedless madmen, languishing in halls and damp sewers. They ranted, gnawed ceaselessly on their own flesh, or simply stared, heedless to everything around them.
Though branded by the Darkness, I was not like them; not yet. I hurried through the crumbling halls, hoping for a glimpse of the benefactor who sought to free this Damned soul. Instead, I came face-to-knee with one of my demonic goalers.
As I narrowly avoided it's terrible and destructive attacks, an open door caught my eye. The rusted and broken nub of sword in my hands barely seemed to phase the towering juggernaut, so I swallowed my disgust and ran, the Goddess must have heard my prayers.
A terrible bellow echoed the halls, pursuing me to the balcony stairwell.
It was there, in a murky alcove, where he lay amongst the muddy remains of a collapsed archway. His pilgrimage was long and he was dying with small hope that my debt to him would be paid in souls and deed.
Wait to Time's End, or fight?
His gifts filled me with a strange vitality. My black skin, dry and broken softened and I felt renewed. Like a slow trickle, life filled me but humanity was fleeting...