Recently started a new play through of scholar of the first sin, and felt a little inspired, chapters are going to be short
A deep winding cave, miles wide and miles deep. Supported by great pillars of stone holding the sky at bay. Between the weaving rocks was a strange out of place isle, reeking of the rotted curse.
In the middle a strange building, a stone gazebo, and in the middle of that a large bundle, rotted rags and feting flesh rose, grasping at the dirt, a simulacrum of life. Wheezing and gasping it was almost falling apart, its clothes hanging loose from the green flesh, itself also coming apart from the body. Hair bleached by time and long since fallen out, until only a few strands, almost like hay, poked out from the scalp.
It had no memories, no name, no protection, but most importantly no souls. For souls were all this undead knew anymore, and all it cared about. Stumbling through the dark strange shapes, it hungrily watched, darted about the thing, almost mocking it, not that there was much left to mock. Slowly but surely it sallied forth, coming upon an ancient hut built into the cave wall, no way around it but through. Exuding a strange warmness, like a fire but not going through your skin to warm you, but almost making it rise from your core, almost like being alive.
This gave the creature pause it had not felt such away in a long time not since-
Searing pain ripped through the creatures head as it almost remembered its first death. The pain that came with such a thing was too much. It gave up on such thoughts a long, long time ago.
Grasping at the door handle it struggled its way inside, into the midst of three old ladies, all unbothered by him almost expecting even, and one much younger girl who was the only one startled who stepped back ladle held forward like one would sword, almost amusing really.
"Oh my, another one comes stumbling by, letting the breeze in. Really now, did your manners rot with your brain close the door." One of the crones spoke out, surprised by the reception the hollow slowly closed the door and stepped through the door. "Come to Drangleic for souls have you Or did you just stumble into the hole that took you here. You don't look like you have anything left in that head of yours to know what souls even means.", another of the ladies spoke out, if they had nothing but insults to bandy it would takes its leave, it had better things to do. "Now now, hold on," The final old lady spoke out."You didn't come to this land for nothing we assure you, although it is likely that is all you shall get, like the many before you, and the many after you, but still take this." The lady grinning, took a hand out of her sleeve, holding onto a strange wire cage and handing it to it.
Gazing numbly at the small thing, he saw what looked like a head attached to a fat base, made of a wicker frame. But it was what was inside that that was odd. Flitting through the space inside the idol was a mix of sparkling lights and familiar darkness, and then it burst.
The light from the effigy was blinding he thought, he was left stumbling around with strange thoughts, finally remembering that he even was a man in the first place. Slowly he opened his eyes and gazed into a mirror, a strange but familiar face gazed up at him in slack-jawed surprise.
He was healthy in tone, almost red, of great physique in a large but far from fat body. His cheekbones pronounced and his jaw well-defined, better than before when it was nearly falling off. His nose was aquiline, hooked forward like a beak. His new eyes, how nice to have proper pupils again, gazed up at his new hair, deep red strands swept back to keep out of his eyes and a full beard framing his face. A stampeded horse was tattooed on his right cheek, a reminder from his past.
Unfortunately, upon gazing down, he discovered his clothes were not prepared for his transformation, as a hollow he was much thinner, and with his sudden regrowth his old tunic and breaches had all but been ripped apart, left with not but a loincloth in front of three cackling old hens and one scandalized caretaker.
"Ex-Excuse me!", the man yelled as he rushed out the back while the ladies laughed and wished him fun ogling himself. 'Well that... could have been much worse', thought the man, 'to be so deprived will still be a problem, but to have life once again! Wait no... I'm not alive am I?", he reached a hand to behind his shoulder and felt at the scar on his back. The mark of the accursed, the dark-sign.
Merely touched the dark circle on his back made him shiver, he felt that coldness deep in his core still and knew the he was undead, then and forever. His mind together once more he reminisced on how he got the mark in the first place, the thoughts were murky and fragmented, for that was one of the worst parts of the cures, that you would lose all memory of your life one day, every though and event that made you who you were just gone, until naught but a hollow remained. He knew his name though,"Seth", a mercenary leader, though his last name and the name of his mercs were long gone. But, more importantly, he could still almost picture it, his death, he was not yet far gone enough to forget what had finally killed him after a long life of fighting, somethings just never leave you.
He had rushed home when the curse appeared, he had fought with his mercenary group for so long only to run away at the sight of rotting corpses standing up. What he found back in Volgen struck him to his core. His home-town decayed to ruin, overrun with hollows. He was running through the streets trying to find his house. When he finally manage to find it and get inside he saw her. He wasn't sure if it was his sister or wife or something else, just that she was dear to him, and when he had desperately wrapped his arms around her that she had ripped his throat out with her teeth to get his soul.
Now he stood here. What did the lady call it? Drakelake? No, it was Drangleic. Lost land of fallen kings and, while smiling, he thought to himself, "Grand souls." With a grim smile he set forth, naked but unafraid, and determined to take his share of souls, or hollow trying.