The land of Drangliec was very strange.
Degradation and decay seemed to permeate every facet of the land. Insane and hollowed undead guarded ramparts of long ruined fortresses. Great giants with armor from an age long ago issued silent challenges to travelers. Grotesque monsters filled the strange and alien locales, preying on anyone they set their sights upon.
With this intimidating gauntlet of challenges it was a wonder the accursed land had any visitors at all.
However, a foreign undead found his way to its decrepit gate. Lured here by an old woman in a strange land.
His name was Aldren.
A small man, merely five and a half feet tall, Aldren was surprisingly quick on his feet and very lean. He had short black hair and a well maintained beard. His skin was deeply tanned, and he carried himself with some trepidation. As it a danger might poke its head out, then try to murder him violently at any time.
Aldren was a warrior. He was sure of it. Though his thoughts evaded him at times and his memory was as decayed as the world around him, he was quite sure he was a fighting man or perhaps a soldier at some point. When he fought, he instinctively set his legs apart and settled into a stance low to the ground. When he took a hit, he almost never faltered.
He pillaged a broken sword and halfway decent leather armor from the hollows in a strange world of great trees, with undead travelers much like himself attacking him at every turn.
The forest was strange, to be sure. It was if it taught him how to fight again, to be on his toes in this hostile world.
Perhaps the old women in their hut designed this as a trial for things to come?
Leaving that purgatory, he found himself in a small ruined town called "Majula". On the verge of collapse from his journey, he rested there for a while. He acquainted himself with its inhabitants, none of whom seemed to actually be from Drangliec.
There was… The blacksmith Lenigrast, the sorrowful knight Saulden, a meek blacksmith named Maughlin, and… her.
A strange woman clothed in a green cloak. She seemed… foreign to everything around her. Pale unblemished skin, immaculately clean clothing, and…
She made him… Uncomfortable. It was if he had met her before, in another time.
She was actually the first person he had met there, everything she had said seemed prophetic and grim. She informed him of what he must do.
"Go on, and see the King. He who made Drangleic what it once was; he who peered at the essence of the soul. King Vendrick."
A chilling request, as he now knew what he had to face.
Aldren knew he had to press on.
Why?
He had no other choice, his mind was ailing him and his memories were fading fast.
He had to press on, or he would join the legions of mindless Hollows that now blocked his path.