Immortal: This is an experiment I am doing. Admittedly I am not as into writing as I used to be. As you can see my other work has been all but abandoned. But this one I feel very intrigued by. This is to take the point of view of all the Heroes in the game, the Heir, and even snippets of the Ancestor. I hope that this stays faithful to the original work, but of course with some of my own takes on it. Please let me know if there's any way I can improve upon this.

Disclaimer: The property herein is not own by me in any way, shape, form, thought, idea, concept, or means. All rights of the Darkest Dungeon and its lore are the property of Red Hook studios and their respective owners. This is and only shall be an affectionate story and take on the works of this dark tale.

We Are the Flame

Prologue

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown"- H.P. Lovecraft

The Old Road

You pick yourself up out of the wreckage of you carriage with trembling limbs and short, rapid breaths as your heartbeat throbs in your ears. Somehow you are completely uninjured, but very shaken. The old caretaker who had been driving the coach is nowhere to be seen after a gunshot struck the wheel of your carriage, sending it crashing into a thick, tall tree. The last you had seen of the old man was just as the carriage crashed, his terrified wailing echoing through the forest as he held onto the reins of the frightened horses. He had been dragged away, his high-pitched shrieks fading before you temporarily lost consciousness in the wake of the crash. Your belongings are strewn all over the road, the horses gone, and the fastest means of reaching your destination is completely useless now. The Old Road is surrounded by trees nearly cutting off any light from the failing sun. It's glow is a dull, dark orange that deepens the shadows and brings about a sense of claustrophobia. You almost start breathing harder as if to get all the air you can, lest the very air be robbed from your lungs.

You hear two voices talking and gaze at your hired help, such as they are. A Highwayman who calls himself Dismas is dusting off his coat and readjusting his blood-red scarf. With a seemingly casual gaze, he glances in your direction and sees that you are still alive. While he will see that you are not killed, maimed, or even mentally destroyed to the best of his abilities, he has no real interest in providing you comfort beyond that. Pain is your problem.

Nevertheless he quickly strides towards you, somewhat roughly checks you over for any injury, and once he is satisfied he steps back. With a relieving air of professionalism he tells you to stay close to him and the Crusader. He too is unharmed from the crash and you feel some measure of relief in knowing that at least one of your guards is fit to fight for you. His self-assured confidence, outward resilience, and level-headed demeanor gives you confidence in turn and you feel your heart beat start to take a calmer rhythm.

You follow Dismas over the pieces of wrecked carriage to see Reynauld with his back to you. He is kneeling with his hands holding his sword with the point in the ground in private prayer. He stood up after finishing his prayer and turned to face you and Dismas, his face covered by his helmet visor. Reynauld is an active-duty Crusader in spite of the wars being long done, his Order having survived the purges other knight fellowships were not so fortunate to live through. Despite the times changing, Crusaders still had a place in the world, and Reynauld had been permitted by his Order to take this crusade upon himself. While you keep your thoughts on religion and faith to yourself, it still feels comforting to have a real knight at your side to face what could possibly be something beyond the realm of weapons and arms. Despite both of your guards having seen better days as far as clothing, armor, and weaponry go, their confidence and outwardly brave appearance inspires you to recover your dignity and aspire to match their courage.

In a manner similar to Dismas, you pat your own coat shake the debris free, dust down your traveling boots, and steel yourself for the task to come. You look back at the carriage and think about how you came to this. The caretaker had shown up to your humble home one day and had delivered a knapsack containing letters, parchment, and gold coins. Whatever the old man had witnessed had been enough to horrify and shake the poor caretaker until he was a half-senile and broken shadow of his former self. Yet he still was loyal to your family no matter what and faithfully carried out what was asked of him. Your eyebrows furrow in concern as you hope that the old man somehow will be alright.

You only hear snippets of words from Dismas and Reynauld as they discussed matters amongst themselves. Feeling somewhat left out, you approach them and ask what they think you all ought to do.

"We make for the Hamlet. Then we will decide matters in a more thorough way.", replied Reynauld. You turn to look at the carriage and try to decide how you will be able to take your things along.

Reynauld places a slightly heavy hand on your shoulder and says respectfully, but firmly, "Leave the luggage. We must get you to safety and we cannot afford to be weighted down by non-essentials.". You look forlornly at your trashed belongings before you recognize a chest that is somehow completely intact and unharmed. You spot your family coat-of-arms on it and then you explain to Reynauld that the chest had something you absolutely needed to bring with you. The Crusader relents and bids you to hurry up with what you need. You dash over a broken wheel and crouch in front of the chest. You pull a key from your coat pocket and fit it into the lock. It smoothly clicks and you open it to reveal the contents.

Inside the chest was a large, brown knapsack with a thick leather strap, small pieces of parchment attached to the knapsack by way of red wax seals with your family's insignia on it. Inside the knapsack was all the money you possessed in the world and most importantly, the letters your Ancestor had written to you. You spotted an oil lantern miraculously intact from the crash and retrieve it. It thankfully still has oil and you are able to light it with a match Dismas provides. You return to the Crusader as he rests his longsword against his shoulder in one hand while the Highwayman pulls out his dirk and flintlock pistol as you announce you are ready to go.

The three of you make your way down the cobbled, uneven, grass-covered road with Reynauld leading the pack, Dismas following close behind him, and you bringing up the rear. You pulled out a letter from your knapsack and held the lamp closely to study it. It was a map detailing how to get to the Hamlet itself along with strange writings, symbols, and pictures. All the letters were written in an almost dead language and you didn't have the time nor the means to fully translate them before you dropped everything to answer the call to return to your ancestral lands. The only thing hinting at the secrets of the letters were detailed drawings of various creatures and things you couldn't even begin to understand. You were a mere university student studying to be an archaeologist and you had yet to complete your studies, but you had enough knowledge on how to translate some of the letters before you were forced to leave.

You begin to read aloud to break the silence, but you take care to do so gently. The silence of the Weald seemed to despise any kind of disturbance and your voice seemed louder than you intended, "

"You will arrive along the Old Road. It winds with a troubling, serpent-like suggestion through the corrupted countryside. Leading only, I fear, to evermore tenebrous places. There is a sickness in the ancient pitted cobbles of the old road and on its writing path you will face viciousness, violence, and perhaps other damnably transcendent terrors. So steel yourself and remember: there can be no bravery without madness. The Old Road will take you to hell, but in that gaping abyss we will find our redemption." ".

Your mind begins to wander as you follow Dismas and Reynauld, contemplating the letter and its writer. You were only a child when you had first visited the Darkest Estate, but you had no memories of it at all save for the cold ball of ice in the pit of your stomach in the rare mentions of it. You had never even met the man who had been living there. He was your great-grandfather, so referring to him as "Ancestor" seemed to you to be the wrong term to use. But your memory of him was nonexistent and you had, in fact, forgotten almost everything about him. You couldn't even remember what he looked like save for a picture that was included in the knapsack you carried. In fact, the knapsack you carried used to belong to him, and when you looked at the picture of the man, your parents compared you to him when he was a much younger man for the resemblance was uncanny. If there was one memory connecting you to the Darkest Estate, it was his voice. It was deep, imperial voice that even now made you feel weak before it for reasons you could not explain. For some reason, your Ancestor had included his will in the knapsack, explicitly stating he wanted you and no other to inherit his estate.

You return your attention to the letter and continue, " "Brigands have run of these lanes. Keep to the side path, the Hamlet is just ahead." ". You blink twice and stare at the translation with a frown. With a moment to think things over, you question yourself if you had translated the words correctly. The words you read are not in the future or past tense... They are in the present tense.

You hardly have time to contemplate this new discovery when suddenly Dismas roughly grabs your coat and shoves you into a nearby bush.

"Stay down and shut up!", he hissed through gritted teeth.

Into the scratchy bush you tumble, dropping your lantern and nearly losing your letter as you hear rough, loud voices. You peer out and spot what look like two bandits. They were rough, dirty, violent-looking men in green hooded tunics wit tan leather armor. One had bandage wraps over his armored gauntlets while the other had fur-lined pauldrons with iron studs. Both of them had shadowed faces and gritted teeth at failing to catch their intended prey off-guard. The taller of the two carried a six-inch dagger and a batter short sword. The other's weapon of choice was a rusty blunderbuss.

The Brigands had no words and were fully intent on robbing you of your possessions and very life. The Brigand Cutthroat lunged at Reynauld with his shank, barely missing the Crusader. Dismas aimed his flintlock pistol and fired at the Brigand Fusilier, striking his shoulder and throwing his aim off. The Fusilier let out a pained grunt as he fired his blunderbuss, but the shot was wild and both of your guards dodged unharmed. You let out a silent cheer as Reynauld struck the Cutthroat with the pommel of his sword into his face, breaking his eye orbit and stunning him. Dismas sprinted towards the Fusilier as he tried to reload his weapon and with a horizontal slash of his dirk he cut thr robber's throat so deeply he almost beheaded him. Reynauld struck the other one with his sword, slashing him across the chest with such force that he was knocked flat onto his back with blood pumping from his wounds and soaking the grass red as he died in moments.

You realize you were watching the fight with bated breath and let out a gasp as you recovered your wits. Dismas wiped the blood off his dirk and reloaded is pistol before he strode over to you. He yanked you out of the bushes and checked you over with the same thorough roughness as before.

Upon seeing you were unharmed he said, "That wasn't so bad, was it?".

Despite being slightly peeved at this, you felt safer having witnessed the pair in action. You glance over at Reynauld to see him standing back up after leaning over the Brigand he killed. For a moment you thought you saw him stuff some things into a small pouch he carried on his hip, but seeing nothing else you decide it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You retrieve your lamp, get a match from Dismas, and reignite it before you three continue on your way.

A few minutes later you three stop by a tent that was undoubtedly used by the Brigands your guards had dispatched of. Dismas approaches the tent cautiously and inpected it with his pistol held at the ready. There was a small purse filled with gold coins and the Highwayman pocketed it without a word. You wonder if there aren't other Brigands who would come back to the camp, but you decided it didn't matter as the three of you carried on. Any misfortunes the Brigands suffered were surely well-deserved.

The Old Road soon becomes easier to tread and the welcoming sight of an open field greets your eyes. You shift your bag on your shoulder as you move to a grassy knoll and gaze out into the view. There, just there on a cliff overlooking the ocean was the Darkest Estate. You are nearly there.

Suddenly Reynauld shouts, "LOOK OUT!", and you hear a gunshot firing at your back. You expect for the projectile to tear through your body and even feel a sense of pain. But it was also a trick of your mind as you turn around to see Reynauld standing in front of you, gasping in pain as he holds his sword in front of him. He had placed himself between you and the gunshot, his armor managing to stop the projectile from entering his body. Had the distance been closer it would've penetrated it, but the impact still hurt. Dismas pulls you behind him and fired his pistol in the direction of the first gunshot causing you to fall back onto your butt as your heartbeat goes into flight or fight mode.

A Brigand Fusilier stepped out and fell forward with a gaping hole in his heart. Another Brigand also stepped out of the treeline, even larger than the others you had seen. His hulking body was round, covered in battle scars, and bare from the chest-up save for a green hood he wore like the smaller Brigands with gold rings on his neck. He had a smoking flintlock pistol in his belts and a cat o' ninetails whip in his massive hands. His eyes were shadowed as a mocking sneer formed on his face.

A sense of fury fills you at the Bloodletter's condescending smirk and at the cowardly way he tried to assassinate you with your back turned. You stand back up as he begins laughing crudely and with more anger than courage you point to him and order, "Send these vermin a message: the rightful owner has returned, and their kind is no longer welcome!".

Dismas charges at the brute and slashes at him with his dirk, sending blood flying in an arc. The thug let out a pained grunt as blood dripped out of his forearm that he raised to protect himself. He visciously swings his weapon and Dismas jumps back just in time avoid it. Reynauld slashed horizontally at the Bloodletter, successfully striking the man's unarmored belly. But the sword is blunted and rusty, robbing the weapon of its normal killing potential. Neverthelss the impact leaves a good-sized gash and the man let out a snarl as he swung his weapon again. This time it struck the Crusader across his chest and the brute strength from the blow sent him tumbling onto his back. Dismas went on the attack and jumped on his back as he repeateedly stabbed wherever he could. The Brigand let out a howl of pain as he thrashed and lurched in an effort to dislodge Dismas. He lurched forward, grabbed the Highwayman by his coat and pulled him down onto his back. Then he wrapped one hand around Dismas' throat and began to strangle him. Reynauld hadn't recovered yet and you picked up a fallen branch. You charged in with a wild yell and smashed it as hard as you could on the Bloodletters head, breaking it clean in two.

From the enraged scowl on his face as he slowly turned his head towards you with shaking fury, you feel your eyes widen and your heart sink at the sheer stupidity of your actions. You've had many good ideas in your life and this was NOT one of them.

But by then Reynauld pushed you aside and smashed the pommel of his sword directly on the Bloodletter's face, breaking the man's nose and nearly caving his face in. He stumbled back and let out a pained howl as he held his hands to his face. Reynauld picked up Dismas and the Highwayman rubbed his throat, coughing and gasping. He glared angrily at the brute as he reloaded his pistol quickly.

The two charged again to bring the menace down for good. Reynauld swung with both hands against the hulking bandit's wrists, nearly severing them as they dropped down from his bloody face. Dismas jumped up, pressed his pistol to the man's forehead and fired it point-blank. Blood, bits of skull, and chunks of brain exploded outwards violently as the man stood shaking on his legs. His body had not quite caught up yet, but soon it gave way and he collapsed with a dull thud.

Your breath comes out in short, rapid gasps as you feel a wave of nausea come over you. It bubbles in your intestines and you can no longer stand it. At the sight of the brain matter you vomit the soup you had directly onto the ground. Struggling to get a grip on yourself you vomit again and Dismas helps you to your feet. You notice Dismas is bleeding and you belt out a rapid-fire burst of apologies for his injuries.

"Calm down. I am quite alright. It's only a flesh wound.", Reynauld says. He pulls out a bandage and begins wrapping his wounds as you run a hand through your hair, trying to figure out just how he is so calm.

"Heh, we got shot at, whipped, choked, yet you look like you're ready to drop before either of us.", jokes Dismas dryly.

Somehow the absurdity and truth of the statement gets to you past the nausea and terror you felt. You find yourself breaking into a weary smile and begin laughing. Despite the scarf covering his face, Dismas looks amused as well. Reynauld for his part can't show whether or not he feels any amusement behind his helmeted visor, yet your ears still pick up a soft chuckle. You take a minute to gather your wits, take calming breaths to slow the racing in your heart, and you once more take a look at the runins of the manor and the dismal hamlet below it, resting near the ocean.

It's still a bit of a ways off as you grab the lantern and once more ignite it. You bring up the map again and you find the clearing as depicted in the map. It shows a narrow pathway down the hill back into the Old Road and you point the way out to your guards. Reynauld unflinchingly leads the way with Dismas following as he reloads his pistol. You readjust your knapsack and begin to follow when a chill creeps down your spine along with that ice in your stomach. For some reason yo can't explain, you turn around and your eyes widen in renewed horror. The viciousness and violence promised to you are nothing compared to what you now bear witness to.

An glowing, white-blue ethereal figure surrrounded by white mist, draped in a white and tattered cloak floats several feet in front of you. Its face is skeletal and rotten to the point you can't tell anything about it. You want to scream, to run, to be anywhere else, but something prevents you from moving as you continue to stare. Darkness starts covering your vision as the figure slowly lifts one thin and rotted arm to point for you to go back the way you came. You stared at the abyss in the figures empty eye sockets and they stared back at you.

Then like a lightening crack you hear your name called and as though you suddenly woke from a nightmare you turn to see Dismas waving for you to hurry up. You're bathed in a cold sweat and trembling. You look back quickly in front of you and you see nothing but the dead Brigands and leaves floating from a breeze.

"No, it's nothing. Nothing at all... It was nothing.", you murmur to yourself and you almost believe it. Then without looking back at the clearing you rejoin Reynauld and Dismas, descending down to the Hamlet.

Within moments the transcendent terror is forgotten.

Immortal: I think this may be good enough to stand on its own, but what do you think? Please leave a review to see if you want this to continue and I will endeavor to do so. Either way, thank you for taking the time to read this. Any constructive criticism is also appreciated.